


and I'm furious (that I still have your back while you're staggering away from me)

by riptheh



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Dark, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Whump, and kidnapped adora and brainwashed her, basically i said what if horde prime won, past child abuse is shown occasionally in flashbacks but there will be a warning before such, summary is for dramatic effect dont worry if i killed somebody i would tag it, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 102,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24655264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riptheh/pseuds/riptheh
Summary: Catra is far away when the failsafe activates, but she sees the effects all the same. Horde Prime's ships leave; magic spreads across Etheria. The planet is temporarily saved, even if Horde Prime still rules the rest of the universe.And Adora is gone, not even a body to be found.Catra grieves; the Rebellion moves on. Things change and stay the same, Adora's presence nothing but a gap left in their lives. Until a month later, when the reports start coming in about a new weapon under a Horde Prime's command, a warrior clothed in white, with enough power to defeat entire planets.It's not the first time Catra and Adora have found themselves on the opposite sides of a war. Only this time, it might be the death of both of them.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow & Catra & Glimmer (She-ra)
Comments: 587
Kudos: 1046





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I've never written for She-Ra before, but this idea got ahold of me and I want to try it out. It was actually supposed to be a one shot, but 4.5k in I realize haha no way. So we'll see where this goes lmao.

She rides for what seems like forever. Melog complains beneath her, groans his discontent at her decision, and she ignores it.

“She doesn’t want me,” she tells him, and he sniffs in disagreement, but doesn’t argue beyond that. What does he care, after all? Out of all the people in the universe, he’s chosen her.

The only one who has.

When the failsafe activates, it knocks both her and Melog flat on their backs. Actually, it knocks Melog onto his back; Catra goes flying, nearly hits a tree, and instead plummets into soft dirt. Soft, but not soft enough to cushion her blow. She hits hard enough to knock all the wind from her lungs, and for several moments just lies there, breathless.

The failsafe is activated. Adora is almost certainly dead. And Catra is, at long last, utterly alone.

She always knew she would be alone, but there’s something about confirming it that hurts so much more. 

Unbidden, tears spring to her eyes. Around her, the world is alight in magic, the greenery unfurling with a sigh, the sky lightening, but all she can think is that it isn’t worth it.

And besides, it won’t beat Prime. Not really. They can release those chipped, and activate the failsafe, but it will only set him back. He still has an entire fleet at his command, and a universe under his thumb.

Dead later, rather than sooner. It’s not much of a comfort.

Catra lets out a sigh that’s almost a sob, then rolls onto her side. In a moment, Melog is by her, sniffing her face, giving a tentative lick of her cheek. She raises a hand to wave him off, but instead, her hand tangles into his fur, and before she knows it, tears are clogging her throat, running down her face. Sobs choke her, unable to be swallowed, and with nobody around to hear, she lets them out. Cries, more than she’s ever cried in her life, for her best friend and everything she never got to say to her.

It wasn’t worth it. The whole universe for Adora, and it still won’t be worth it. Not when Catra tried to destroy it herself, not when Adora tried to save it. It will never be enough, and yet it doesn’t matter, because the trade was made anyway.

She hates it. She hates it, she hates it, she hates it, she—

“Catra?”

Catra flinches, and immediately gulps down a sob, turning just as the exact person she never wants to see stumbles into the clearing. 

“Hi, Sparkles,” she says, and because she can’t hide the tears streaking her cheeks, resists the urge to brush them away. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” Glimmer stares like she’s just grown another tail. “Catra, have you not noticed the war going on?”

She gestures to the trees behind her, to, Catra notices now, the lights of ships gleaming softly through the gaps in the foliage. Not close enough that she could have stumbled into it herself, but close enough that another quarter of a mile might have taken her there.

It’s almost funny how, in trying to outrun everything, she’s nearly crashed right into it. 

“Oh.” She doesn’t know what else to say, so she sits up, blinking away a stray tear, and pulls on an expression of cool disinterest. It’s hard, when her entire world has already shattered and she hasn’t gotten around to picking up the pieces. “Sorry to interrupt. I won’t bother you.”

Which is probably a selfish thing to say—a better person would have offered to help. Thing is, though, Catra has never been a good person, and with her last decision, she’s only pounded that stake into the ground. Run away, and secured her own moral inferiority. 

Might as well lean in.

“You’re kidding.” Glimmer gapes as Catra pulls herself to her feet, watches as she turns back to the path she’d been traveling upon. “Catra—wait!”

“Why?” Catra turns, harshness biting into her tone, unbidden and yet so familiar. Habitual, except when she tries to stop it, and she’s not trying anymore. “I’m leaving, Glimmer! Adora is gone! None of you want me around! Besides, why would I stick around just to see you lose?”

“Because we haven’t lost yet!” Glimmer snaps, with such ferocity that Catra nearly takes a step back. Before she can respond, however, Glimmer waves a hand towards the foliage behind her, to the lights glittering in the distance. “Catra, why do you think I’d be here if we’d lost? We’re trying to retreat, and honestly, we could use any help you’re offering!”

Surprise takes Catra aback. She knows a hand extended when she sees one, but isn’t quite ready to take it. Not when Adora doesn’t have her back, and the only history that lies between her and Glimmer is entirely negative.

“Retreat is just another word for losing,” she replies coolly. “And why would you want—”

“Glimmer, there you are!” Another voice sounds in the trees, and moments later, King Micah comes stumbling into the clearing, panting. Catra stares.

“Um, is he still chipped?” she asks nobody in particular. Not that there aren’t people to answer, because a second later, Spinnerella crashes through the foliage, followed by Netossa.

Catra stares.

“Not chipped,” Netossa puffs out, then straightens. “Bow managed to disable them. He’s right behind.”

Glimmer melts with relief. “Oh, thank Etheria. I thought maybe—”

“He’s fine.” Spinnerella looks particularly grim. “But we don’t know what happened to Entrapta.”

“Something happened to Entrapta?” Worry wells up in Catra’s throat, but she quickly squashes it. They aren’t friends enough to be worried, except that it prickles at her anyway, and she hates it.

Glimmer nods, face solemn. “She was captured. That’s why Bow went in after her to finish the job. Only—”

“I’m here!” Bow practically falls into the clearing to several exclamations of relief. He rights himself, and turns around, just as Scorpia bursts through as well, and at this point, Catra is simply gaping. “Oh, hey Catra!”

“Hey,” Catra replies before she can stop herself, and then gives an irritated shake of her head. “Wait, wait a minute! What the hell are you all doing here? And how the hell did you all get away?”

Because there should be losses, right? There’s no way all these people— _friends_ , a voice at the back of her head whispers, but she tamps it down—could survive. It’s almost unfair, that they should and Adora hasn’t.

It can’t be real. There has to be some catch.

Bow gives her a strange look, like it’s obvious. Or that maybe she might have known the reason, if she had been there. “We’re not entirely sure, to be honest. We managed to unchip everybody, and then the failsafe activated, and—”

“The fighting just stopped,” Glimmer finishes for him, a crease between her brow like she knows there’s something off about it but doesn’t want to question. “It was like all of Prime’s forces got the same order to stop. They just froze, and then retreated.”

“So we did too,” King Micah puts in, shooting Catra a strange look. A ‘where were you?’ but it also might be a ‘who the hell are you?’ Catra can’t be sure. “It was an opportunity to regroup. We might have an advantage now, with the magic released. We need to figure out a way to use it.”

With the magic released. With the failsafe activated. Catra’s heart plummets. She knows exactly what they’re not saying. With Adora sacrificed, they have a chance.

And Catra’s life might as well be over, in every way that matters.

“What about Adora?” she asks, and then anger—useless, but overwhelming—bubbles up in her. She jabs a finger at Glimmer, whose face twists, like she knows what’s coming. “Why are you here, anyway? And you?” Her finger moves to Bow. “Didn’t anybody go with her?”

“We tried to,” Glimmer starts, and her lips turn down, an awful guilt filling her eyes. “But she wanted to go on alone. Said she couldn’t do it if she was worried about other people.”

“She said we were distracting her,” Bow adds, and he’s wearing that same horrible look, the eyes that say maybe they did the wrong thing, but they’re not entirely sure. “That she couldn’t turn into She-Ra unless she was alone.”

“And we thought…” Glimmer says, but doesn’t complete the sentence. She doesn’t have to. Because they all know how it ended. If Adora had turned into She-Ra, she would have joined the fight. It’s as obvious as the new magic that’s now filtering throughout the landscape. Adora would never leave them to fight a battle—or retreat—on their own. She would help finish the job. She couldn’t not.

But she hasn’t, which means—

“We have to go get her.” Catra’s head jerks up, and she turns her glare to Bow and Glimmer, because they deserve it, damn it. For leaving her when they’re the ones who aren’t supposed to, when they aren’t _her_. “We can’t just leave her there. Not like this.”

Bow and Glimmer stare, and she can see the tentative agreement on their faces, but it’s King Micah who speaks first.

“We will, but we can’t yet.” He steps forward, and puts a hand on Glimmer’s shoulder. “We have to keep going. Regroup, and replan. The failsafe might have set them back, but we don’t know what their next move might be. It might be—”

“Leaving.”

All heads jerk to Scorpia. Startled by the sudden attention, she gives a small wave, then palms the back of her neck. “Uh, yeah. Not to interrupt. Sorry about that. And did I mention I was sorry about—”

“You did,” Bow says patiently. “What do you mean, leaving?”

Scorpia swallows hard, clearly not enjoying the attention. “Well, uh, I mean—”

For answer, she jerks a thumb over her shoulder, to the tops of the trees scraping the sky. They all follow her direction, craning their necks back, and release a collective gasp. 

Because high above, so high that they almost look like green stars, the lights of the ships are disappearing one by one. Winking out, as if they’d never been there at all.

Leaving. And as they watch, gaping, the ship of Horde Prime itself raises with a mighty groan, and, spinning slowly, hurls itself out of the atmosphere and into the space beyond.

Gone.

Catra stares for a long moment, then lowers her head.

“We’re going,” she says, brooking no room for argument, “to get her.”

————

The way to the Heart is eerily silent. There’s no security, no memories skulking about, though Bow and Glimmer claim there had been on the way in. The halls stretch endless and dark, and it takes them a while to simply figure out which direction to follow.

It takes them a while to even reach the Heart, but in the end, they make it.

It’s as eerily silent as the rest of the place. It’s also, most damning of all, empty.

“It’s empty,” Glimmer says in disbelief, something like hope seeping into her tone. Catra doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even notice she’s falling to her knees until, with a thump of pain, her shins hit the hard floor.

“It can’t be empty,” she says, and her voice cracks, but she doesn’t care. “How can it be empty?”

No body. No hope. No Adora, even, weak and injured, that Catra, hoping against all hopes, had been silently praying for.

Instead, somehow, she was gone. And wasn’t that just typical of her?

“Maybe she got out,” Bow says, hopeful even when he has no right to be. “Maybe she—”

He cuts off as Glimmer clears her throat and points toward the floor of the Heart, where dried blood soaks into the cracks on the floor. It’s everywhere, enough to tell them all that even if she survived, she wasn’t getting out of there.

She couldn’t have left. Which means—

“Where could she have gone?” The words slide out in a whisper, rasping and harsh. “How can she not be here?”

Behind her, Glimmer and Bow shift, unable to answer. Of course they can’t answer—when it comes down to it, they’re just clueless kids, just like she is, even though she’s spent years trying to pretend she’s not. All of them are idiots, and Adora may be the biggest idiot of them all, because she had to go and sacrifice herself, and didn’t even wait around to be rescued.

Catra should have gone with her. The thought rolls through her head, unfettered and painful, and she flinches. Would it have been different, she wonders, if she had stayed?

Of course. Everything would have been different if they’d stayed together, at any point in time. They’ve had so many chances— _she’s_ had so many chances—and now, she’s fumbled the last one.

And Adora is gone.

“Maybe the—” Glimmer’s voice cracks with tears. “Maybe the Heart—”

Took her. Absorbed her. Made her part of the planet. Maybe she’s in all of Etheria now, and she’ll never have to sacrifice herself again.

Small comfort.

Catra stares at the dried blood on the floor for several long moments, and says nothing. Then, abruptly, she pushes herself to her feet.

“C’mon.” The words come out harsh, practically spat upon the floor. “There’s nothing here for us.”

With that she turns and pushes past Bow and Glimmer, leaving them to follow.

—————

Days go by, and Catra doesn’t remember any of them. She follows Glimmer and Bow back to the Rebellion in a daze, and doesn’t even reject when they quietly welcome her. Part of her knows that she should go with her original plan to strike out on her own (because nobody wants her around anyway), but the rest of her is too lost to care.

Lost. That’s what she is. She’d always wondered what she’d be without Adora. Now she knows. 

Whispers follow her, but for once, they aren’t about her. Seems the Rebellion is too busy regrouping and reconstructing to care about one lone Horde defector, even one that almost destroyed the universe. The fact that there are dozens more streaming in by the day, thanks to Hordak’s disappearance, probably helps too.

Instead, the whispers are about the universe, and everything that lies beyond Etheria. About Horde Prime, and whatever his plans may be. About the new-old magic that now permeates Etheria, and what they’re going to do with it.

Mainly, it’s about whether he’ll come back, and what the planet is meant to do in a universe they never knew they could be a part of.

Catra tries not to listen (she doesn’t care), but she learns things anyway, despite her best efforts. She learns that right now, the running theory is that the released magic temporarily poisoned the planet for Horde Prime. That he’ll probably be back, once he figures out a way to get past it. That so far, though their tracking technology is rudimentary without Entrapta to improve it, all they know is that he’s far, far away from them. That he’s busy with other planets, doing who-knows-what.

She doesn’t learn about magic, and she doesn’t learn what her fate will be once the Rebellion figures out what to do with her. Probably, it’ll be an execution, but she doesn’t care about that either.

Nobody talks to her except Melog, but she’s grateful for it. She curls up with him when she has nothing to do—which is always—and tries to ignore the emptiness that eats at her stomach. It sits like an empty swimming pool anyway, and she on the diving board, teetering over the edge. One wrong move, and she’ll smash into the bottom.

She doesn’t fall. She forces herself not to, if only because she still has some pride left. Instead, she drowns in a different way. Silently, choking on tears at night when nobody can hear. Melog comforts her as much as he can, and she clings to him where she would never cling to anybody else.

Well. There’s one person she clung to, once upon a childhood, but she’s gone now, and there’s no use wasting tears over what could have been, not when reality has given her plenty to grieve over.

Nearly a month passes like that, and Catra pays no notice. She ignores the whispers and the goings-on, ignores any news that passes by her head. She’s waiting for them to do something with her, but they don’t do anything with her, so she wallows alone, and doesn’t bother trying to plumb the secrets of the Rebellion she’d once would have killed to know.

She ignores everything, until she starts to get the looks.

They aren’t the looks one might expect as a guilty intruder. They don’t bear hate, nor suspicion—which she would have expected sooner, anyway. They don’t even bear sympathy, which she also didn’t expect, because everybody hates her.

Instead, they look at her as if they know something, and she doesn’t, and they’re not exactly keen on her finding out what it is.

Which is exactly why, after the fifth passing glance in the hallway, Catra corners Glimmer to find out exactly what it is.

“Tell me why everybody’s looking at me.” She pins her against the wall, claws retracted—trying to be nice, if only because Adora would have wanted that—and watches Glimmer freeze.

“Nobody’s looking at you, Catra,” Glimmer says slowly, with such patience reassurance that Catra immediately doesn’t believe it. _Oh_ , how she wants to take her claws out.

Nice, she thinks. Be _nice_.

“Yes, they are,” she shoots back, struggling to keep the snap out of her voice. “It started two days ago. Everybody keeps looking at me like they have a secret. So what is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

“We’re not not telling you anything,” Glimmer is too quick to reply, but she’s wilting already, guilt seeping across her face. Nobody in the Rebellion is good at lying—it has to come with being so damn goody-two shoes about everything. “There’s nothing to tell. There’s no new intel.”

“No new intel about what?” Catra narrows her eyes. “Sparkles, I hope you know my claws are retracted.”

Glimmer glares, but her eyes flicker down to the death grip Catra has on her shoulder. “Wow, you’re so kind,” she grumbles, and pushes Catra’s hand off of her shoulder, but doesn’t slip away. Instead she stands her ground and eyes Catra, as if weighing some decision in her head.

“It’s just intel about Horde Prime,” she says at last. “And where he’s been spotted.”

“Liar,” Catra responds immediately, and watches Glimmer raise an eyebrow. “Tell me the truth, or—”

“You’ll set Melog on me?” Glimmer’s eyebrow rises ever higher. She glances to Melog, who’s sitting just a pace behind, tail flicking back and forth. At his name, he perks up, and lets out an entirely nonthreatening mewl. “Oh gosh, I’m so scared.”

“Glimmer.” Catra’s tone is hard, biting off any semblance of joke between them. “I’m serious. Tell me what you know.”

And there’s a plea beneath it, unspoken, but enough to give Glimmer pause. She hesitates, eyes tracking over Catra’s face, then sighs in surrender.

“I’m going to an intelligence briefing,” she says. “You can sit in if you want. But Catra—”

She stops then, biting her lip, and gives Catra one long, worried look, as if she’s afraid she might regret what she’s about to do.

“Don’t freak out,” she says at last.

—————

King Micah is there, are so are Bow, Spinnerella, Netossa, Scorpia, and several others Catra recognizes in face, if not in name. Scorpia gives her a wave and a smile, albeit one that’s tinted with worry, and gestures for her to sit before King Micah can open his mouth.

“Glad to have you, Catra!” she says, and pats the seat right next to her. “You can sit right here. Or across from me, if you want. Or not by me at all, if—”

“I’ll sit by you, Scorpia.” Catra crosses the room and tries to return Scorpia’s relieved smile, even though it comes out as more of a grimace. An apology to Scorpia, so far, is the one thing she’s managed to do since coming back to the Rebellion. Scorpia accepted it with far more grace than she should have, and since then, has made an effort to include Catra in things, even though Catra rebuffs every single offer.

Scorpia, Catra thinks for what might be the millionth time, is a far better friend than she deserves.

“Glad to have you here, Catra,” King Micah says in a voice that suggests anything but. When Catra looks up at him, she only briefly catches the glance he shoots Glimmer, a question in his eyes: _are you sure?_

Sure about what? Catra wants to scream. She wants to pound the table and demand an answer. The not-knowing sits itchy at the base of her scalp, and patience is a virtue she’s long since squandered. She never had need for it in the Horde, when she could simply demand of her friends whatever she wanted.

Now, however, she is on the good side in name if not feeling, and needs to play nice. At the very least, she might get information out of it.

Glimmer nods, and King Micah turns back to the display behind him. It looks like a map, though not one Catra might recognize, and it takes her a moment to reorient and realize that the dots are planets, not points on Etheria. 

“You have a map of the universe?” The question comes out before she can reel it in. King Micah, mouth open to launch into whatever briefing he has prepared, closes it and shoots her a look that tells her she be best off not interrupting.

“We’ve been in contact with nearby planets,” he explains, tone edged with slight impatience. “Ever since She-Ra—”

Catra flinches.

“—fought Horde Prime on his ship, other planets have been in revolt. Not every planet—not even most—but a fair amount have been fighting his rule. We’ve managed to get in contact with a few, and they’ve been giving us updates.”

He clears his throat. “Not to mention, we’ve been looking into ways to fight back using Etheria’s magic.”

“Oh.” Catra nods, and sinks back into her seat. She should have known the fight wouldn’t be over. The Rebellion is too damn wholehearted to cut their losses, lick their wounds, and focus on their own planet. Some part of her knows this makes sense—allying with other planets will only make them stronger—but another part of her just wants it to end.

War stretches behind her eyelids, eternal and horrific. She can’t see a victory, much as she tries to imagine one. Fighting has always been her whole life, first in the Horde, and then directly against the Rebellion, but in the few days before the failsafe activated and she’d been reunited with Adora, she’d—

Well, she’d hoped it might end.

Now she knows that such hope is useless.

King Micah is still talking, rambling about some other planet Catra doesn’t care about. Still, she makes an effort to lean forward and listen, if only because she forced Glimmer to drag her here.

“Axos had originally reached out with plans to ally with us, but unfortunately, Horde Prime got to them first.” This revelation is met with a hushed rumble of disappointment, traded glances and exclamations. King Micah nods at the reaction, face grim.

“W received news this morning, but it looks like they were defeated yesterday,” he continues, and the sighs and whispers grow. “It’s a shame—they would have been a powerful ally.”

“Wait,” Spinnerella says as he moves his finger to another planet, “was it—”

King Micah pauses as her question dangles. Catra looks between the two of them, suspicion suddenly rising. The whole room is hanging onto the question, as if they all know what they’re talking about.

“Yes,” King Micah says curtly, and moves on to the next planet. “Now, Tiria is—”

“Was it what?” Catra asks, on her feet before she’s realized she’s moved. King Micah stops, and all eyes go to her. She ignores the room, and looks pointedly at King Micah. “What are you talking about?”

“Er—” King Micah looks to Glimmer, who’s wearing an unpleasant look, as if she doesn’t want to be on the spot. 

“You can tell her, dad,” she says, though she looks as if she doesn’t want to say it. “That’s why she’s here, after all.”

“Alright.” King Micah frowns, then turns to Catra. His eyes sweep over her face, as if gauging the reaction she might give. “Catra, you haven’t been privy to recent intelligence—”

“I know some things,” Catra retorts, which is a lie. “Like everybody keeps giving me weird looks in the hallways. What’s up with that? What aren’t you telling me that everybody else knows?”

“Er—” King Micah swallows, looking very much, suddenly, like the kind of dad who has to tell his daughter she’s grounded and isn’t looking forward to it. He glances once more to Glimmer, then sighs. “We’ve received solid intelligence that Horde Prime has a new weapon on his side. A magical weapon, and one difficult to reckon with.”

Of course. It would be a weapon. But that’s not all it is. Catra can see it in King Micah’s eyes, can practically feel the way the entire room is dancing around the subject.

“A weapon,” she says slowly, eyes firmly fastened on the king. “What kind of weapon?”

They know. She can tell they know exactly what it is. And suspicion is growing inside of her, dreadful, horrible realization, though she has no idea what it might be. It’s their looks that are scaring her, the passed glances and the whispers at her back.

She can’t imagine what it might be, but at the same time—

“Tell me!” she demands when nobody answers. Her claws curl around the edge of the table, sinking into the wood. “What the hell is it?”

King Micah lets out a breath, nostrils flaring. He looks once more to Glimmer—something Catra is getting entirely tired of—then focuses on her.

“It’s She-Ra,” he says at last, so careful that not a word shatters as he sets them down. “We believe that Horde Prime has taken She-Ra.”

Not a word of his shatters, but something inside Catra breaks cleanly in two.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, I'm back! This au has been on my mind, so I've been writing pretty quickly. I'm going to try to space chapters out to once a day/once every other day as I go, but I didn't expect that people would be interested in this, so I'm like. overwhelmed lol. seriiously thank you all so much for the comments and kudos, I really appreciate them. 
> 
> I hope you like this chapter, I'm really excited about it!

There’s a moment of absolute silence. In it, Catra can sense the world reeling beneath her feet. The room spins slowly, heart pumping in lethargic panic.

“You’re kidding.” The words come out low, barely a whisper. Slowly, as if in a dream, she watches King Micah shake his head.

“We started receiving reports two days ago,” he says softly, his voice entirely too kind. “We didn’t want to believe at first, but—”

“Why didn’t you TELL ME!” Her fist slams against the table, and the whole room startles. She doesn’t even feel sorry. She’s shaking, she realizes distantly, trembling like a leaf, and she can’t seem to stop. She’s never been good at control, but usually, it comes out through anger. Not in other ways. Not in weakness.

She wants to fall to her knees. But she can’t, because, she’s starting to realize, she has to stay on her feet.

No more falling. There’s nobody to catch her, and even beyond that, the one person who always has done so needs two open hands herself.

For once, Catra will have to do the catching.

The rest of the room shifts uneasily, eying each other guiltily. It’s Bow who speaks first.

“You didn’t seem interested, Catra.” He speaks gently, like he’s afraid of breaking her, and she wants to love. Doesn’t he know she’s already in pieces, or is it somehow not written on her face? “You were…”

“Grieving,” Glimmer cuts in. “And we weren’t sure you would take it well.”

“Take it well?” Catra growls, claws digging roughly into wood. “You kept it from me because you didn’t think I _would take it well?_ Are you serious?”

“You’re, uh, sort of not taking it well now,” Bow points out with a worried look. As if caution and porcelain hands will smooth this over.

“Of course I’m not TAKING IT WELL!” Catra shouts, only to recall that she’s not supposed to lash out anymore, _then_ to remember that she almost doesn’t care. Almost. She’s beyond angry, spiraling into dark places she’s been trying to leave, but she’s not ready to relapse.

She can’t. Not when Adora is out there, trapped under Horde Prime’s command, doing who-knows-what. Not when she’s—

Brainwashed. Fighting against the very people she would want to protect. Chipped, even, and Catra remembers how it feels to be chipped, remembers the process, remembers—

She takes a deep, ragged breath. Forces herself to swallow another shout. “I’m sorry for yelling. What I meant to say was: how are we going to help her?”

She’s looking at the table when she says it, but she looks up, nobody is looking at her. They’re still glancing between themselves, uncertainty on their faces. Catra scans the room, and reads the answer before anybody has to say it.

“You’re not going to do anything,” she says, her heart sinking to her feet. “You’re just going—you’re going to—”

“We don’t have the means to,” King Micah says softly. Insistently, an edge of authority to his tone. Like he’s trying to convince her that he’s right, when she knows that he isn’t. “We only have the one spaceship, and even with Entrapta, we could barely get it running. Without her—”

“It’s not what we want either!” Glimmer adds, and Catra can tell by her tone that she means it. There’s grief there, an almost-break that tells Catra she’s been holding back tears. Beside her, Bow nods silently, with a look that tells Catra he feels the same. “Catra, you know we’d go get her in an instant. We just don’t know _how_.”

“But you’re trying to figure it out,” Catra says, voice hard and flat. “You’re doing something about it.”

“I am,” Bow says, and Catra turns to him. He looks grim, his mouth cutting a hard line, but his words do a better job of lying. “I’m doing everything I can to get our ship running. It’s just…well, it’s old. It barely made the last trip. We need to make sure it can stand another.”

“And you know where she is?” Catra swings back to King Micah, not even bothering with a response. Some part of her knows she should be nicer, kinder, appreciative, but she’s too shaky to care. Her mind is racing, only it’s racing around in circles, nipping at her own heels, tripping her up. She can’t even think through a plan. She definitely can’t summon the wherewithal to say thank you.

King Micah hesitates, face twisting.

“Not exactly,” he admits, but is quick to add, “but we can track her! There are reports on the ground, and sightings when she hits. She’s not completely invisible.”

“Yeah, Adora has never been that good at avoiding messes,” Bow says, his smile tilting like it’s meant to be a joke but he can’t summon the appropriate expression. “Now that she’s with Prime…”

“Basically, she’s easy to spot,” Glimmer adds, but she isn’t smiling. She only looks worried, a deep crease furrowed into her brow. She’s studying Catra the same way everybody else is, like she’s going to break apart any second, but there’s a hint of something else there that tells Catra she’s looking deeper. Thinking back, maybe, to those nights spent on opposite sides of a cell, and piecing together all the little tells that Catra has shown her.

Maybe she realizes that Catra has well and truly fallen apart, and just doesn’t want to mention it. 

“Easy to spot,” Catra repeats, and some part of her wants to snort. Of course she would be. Adora has always been easy to spot. Whether she’s She-Ra, eight feet tall and shining white and gold, or whether she’s wearing her stupid, bright red jacket and her signature ponytail. Catra could find her in any crowd.

She could find her across the universe, no matter how many light years it may take.

They’re all still staring at her, waiting, maybe, for another outburst, a fist to hit the table. She doesn’t give them one. Her anger has drained like water from a sink, leaving her empty. Half of her misses it; she would rather scream and flip tables than give in to whatever hollowness is eating her whole.

But this is different. This isn’t the caved-in sensation of grief. There’s a hard, bitter edge to it now, a determination she’s only ever felt once before.

Once, she would have destroyed the whole world just to prove to Adora that she doesn’t need her. Now, she’ll drop everything because she can’t live in a world without her.

But isn’t that how it always went? Whether she destroyed the world, or saved it—it had to be both of them. Either live in a world with Adora, or ruin the one they had so neither of them could have it.

Some friend. Vaguely, Catra wonders why Adora would ever want to see her again. Then she decides that it doesn’t matter. She’ll do whatever it takes to bring her back, and then, if Adora wants to leave her again, she can.

It’s all Catra deserves, anyway. Adora doesn’t deserve whatever the hell Horde Prime is going to do to her. Which is why it’s so damned unfair that it’s happening at all.

“Okay.” She breathes out, and only then realizes that they’re all waiting for a response. King Micah is shifting his weight impatiently, glancing towards the map. Glimmer and Bow are watching her, concerned.

She looks at them, and sets her jaw. She doesn’t bother with King Micah; it’s not his blessing she’s asking for.

“I’m coming with you,” she says. Her tone brooks no room for argument. Bow immediately nods. Glimmer does too, albeit hesitantly.

“We might have to go back to Horde Prime’s ship,” she says. “Catra, are you sure—”

“Yes,” she says. And she is, even though her heart quails at the thought of returning, her tail is already fluffing in fear at the thought. She wishes, sometimes, that she didn’t have so many damn tells. “Of course I’m going. And I want to help with the ship. And I want to be in the meetings. I want to be involved. I can help.”

King Micah opens his mouth to object—probably something along the lines of ‘I still am not entirely sure who you are’—but Glimmer stops him with a raised hand.

“Dad, Catra was under Horde Prime’s control on his ship,” she says, her eyes still on Catra. “I think she’d be a lot of help. If she’s sure she wants to.”

“Of course I’m sure,” Catra retorts snappishly, only to remember that she’s not supposed to _be_ like that anymore. “I mean, yes. I want to help. I’ll do anything.”

In the Horde, saying ‘I’ll do anything’ is a death sentence. It’s volunteering for extra training and latrine duty under Shadow Weaver’s wry smile. It’s putting yourself under a magnifying glass, because in the Horde if you say something so flippant, you’d better be ready to back it up. For a brief moment, Catra wishes there were more people from the Horde in the Rebellion, if only to understand how serious she is.

Then, quietly, Scorpia sidles up beside her and lays a claw on her shoulder.

“I believe in you, wildcat,” she says, and it’s funny, but those few words are nearly enough to make Catra sob. It catches in her throat, the sound of it, and she has to turn it into a cough, lest she collapse into complete humiliation. 

_Stand tall,_ she tells herself even though all she wants to do is curl into a ball and cry. _Stand tall._

“Thanks,” she manages to get out, and beside her, Scorpia nods. She lets her touch linger for a few moments, longer than Catra is usually comfortable with, then pulls away.

Glimmer and Bow are still eying her uncertainly.

“Okay, Catra,” Bow says after a moment. “If you want, after this, I can show you around the ship. Actually—” he hesitates, glances toward King Micah— “I can show you now. I don’t really need to be here, and—I, uh, don’t like taking breaks from the ship.”

He shifts uncomfortably as he says this, and as Catra stares at him, it occurs to her that maybe he isn’t as composed as she thought. That he maybe wants Adora back as much as she does, only he says it less in words and glares and emotional outbursts than he does in constant work.

Bow is a steady, calm presence. She knows this already from the time they’ve spent together on the ship. Is it any wonder, then, that he could be calm through a calamity as well?

“Okay,” she says, then glances towards King Micah. “I mean—”

“It’s fine.” King Micah nods towards the door, probably relieved that his briefing will finally continue uninterrupted. “Bow, Catra, you go. Glimmer will catch you both up later.”

“Bye, guys.” Glimmer looks wistful, as if she’d rather be working on the ship as well. It’s slightly heartening to see—almost enough to convince Catra that she’s not alone in the grief eating at her stomach.

Of course, there are other people who love Adora. She just can’t quite convince herself that they feel the same way she does.

But then, maybe nobody feels exactly the way she does.

She gives King Micah a grateful nod, then follows Bow out the door. Half of her wonders how much she’ll talk to her as they work—he’s friendly, but they aren’t exactly on the best of terms. After all, she did throw him off a cliff that one time.

As it turns out, she doesn’t have to. The moment the door closes behind them, he rounds on her.

“Are you okay?”

It’s not what she expects. At all. She blinks, stumbling back. “What?”

“Are you okay?” Bow searches her face anxiously, and with such open concern that she’s forcibly reminded how close they were to being friends before she unceremoniously left. In the hallway, empty except for the two of them, all of the quiet authority he wears falls away, and he’s only the person she was slowly starting to warm to on the ship. “You didn’t seem okay in the briefing. I wasn’t sure if I should ask, but—”

“I’m fine,” Catra says, only to realize that she’s blinking away tears. Bow’s concern—guileless, unadulterated—has forced open the crack in her chest, the one she’s been furiously holding together ever since she’s gotten the news. She swallows hard, and tries again. “I mean, it doesn’t matter what I am. This is about Adora.”

Who’s alive, some small part of her adds, clinging furiously to the minuscule hope it carries. Who might be on the other side of the universe, but still carries a beating heart.

Who can be saved, maybe. If they can fix their damned ship.

Bow is still watching her like he’s not entirely convinced. “Are you sure, Catra? I know I’m not your closest friend, but—” He hesitates, and doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Catra doesn’t have any friends, and they both know it. In this moment, Bow truly is the closest she’s got. Besides maybe Glimmer.

Still, a lie springs to her tongue easier than the truth. “I’m fine,” she says, and in doing so, pushes away the fact from the fiction, reinforces the fantasy of masked emotion. She says she’s fine, so she’ll be fine. She told herself she hated Adora every day for the last few years of her life. If she can believe that, she can believe this.

“C’mon, Bow,” she says, and this time, puts some old steel into her voice. “We have a ship to fix.”

—————

She wakes into a world of pain.

That’s almost accurate, but not entirely. The truth is, she was in pain before she even woke up, sensed it somewhere between her dreams like the ache of a phantom limb, but it’s only now, forced back into reality, that she feels it.

Really feels it. She’s screaming before she knows where she is, choking off only when her mouth fills with liquid and her air cuts out completely.

“Oh, little sister.” A chuckle reverberates through the liquid, distant as if she’s underwater, though no water she knows is green and viscous like this fluid. It takes her a moment of silent panic to realize she can still breathe. It takes her another two moments to realize that she’s floating, tethered only by countless tubes plunged into her body. Her last memory she has is of wearing her own old clothing, her comfortable jacket, shirt, and pants. Now, she’s in some kind of suit, skin tight and uncomfortable. She wants to rip it off, but pain and the surrounding tubes pin her down.

“Where—” she tries, but can’t seem to make a sound. Something in her throat is blocking her. She only swallows green, foul tasting fluid, as slimy as the jello Glimmer once made her try. 

“I wouldn’t try speaking.” The same voice—familiar, _familiar_ —reaches her ears, and she jerks her head up, letting out a whine of pain when the tubes pull at her face. Slow, silent panic is swimming up on her, making it hard to think.

“This is the third time you’ve been in here, if you don’t recall.” There’s muffled footsteps, and then the owner of the voice steps into view, and Adora has to keep from gasping. Not from surprise, but the cold shock of it, rallied with a terrible feeling of Deja Vu.

She’s been here before. She remembers this. Tubes and green fluid and pain, and in between, snatches of worlds she’s never known, of battles—

Memory comes back like fingers pressed to a hot stove, and she flinches from the burn.

“And that’s the problem.” Horde Prime chuckles again, rueful and distant, his voice muddy in her ears. “I will admit that your friend posed less of a problem, little sister. After all, one mind, and especially a mind so wracked with pain—” he shakes his head— “why, it was easier to bring her into my light.”

She knows who he’s talking about. Of course she knows. Names swim out of reach—even her own blurs in her mind—but her face is clear as day before her. A sharp toothed smile and eyes that sparkle with mischief. Hair cut too short that she secretly likes, though she’d never tell her. Hands—

“But you—” The voice draws her sharply out of her memories and back to reality. “Split between two bodies. It poses a difficult problem, but not—” he clucks his tongue— “an insurmountable one.”

“What—” her voice doesn’t make it out, but she shapes her lips around the question anyway, desperate. “What do you mean?”

He can’t hear her—there’s no way he can hear her—but he must understand, for he tilts his head thoughtfully. 

“I have little use for you,” he says, regarding her with cold eyes. Unbidden a thrill of fear shoots through her, and she wants to cringe away, but the tubes hold her in place. “You are barely more than a child, and just as useless. She-Ra, however—”

He grins and steps forward, coming uncomfortably close to the glass. She stares at him, unable to look away, paralyzed in fear, and can only watch as his grin stretches ever wider. It’s calm and cool, and entirely eerie.

“I have been merciful,” he says, “allowing you to return to your regular form between campaigns. Indeed, I thought it would be easier.”

She remembers now. Other times like this, locked in a glass holding alone, choking on foul tasting liquid as wounds from a battle she barely remembers heal in slow, painful strips at a time. 

Battles she doesn’t want to remember. Battles fought against her will, battles in which she split entire planets in two, battles in which she killed—in which she killed—

Hot tears are running down her face, floating away through the liquid, and Horde Prime is watching her, his smile dancing with cruelty.

“You are conflicted, child,” he says, and his voice is calm and cool and yet so entirely sympathetic that the tears come faster, hotter, spiraling away through the green. “I can set you free entirely.” He leans in closer, pressing one hand against the glass. It’s an invitation, she knows, and without thinking, she mirrors it.

She remembers more than the battles. She remembers the peace that came with them. She remembers winning. She remembers clarity as sweet as a summer breeze, secure in the knowledge that she was doing what was right.

“I don’t want to fight,” she tries to say, even though she knows she can’t hear him, but that’s a lie, isn’t it? She’s been fighting her whole life. She was born to fight, molded into it. She’s a warrior, whether she admits it or not, and her memories are muddy—she can’t, for instance, remember why she’s fighting—but there has to be a reason to it.

“Oh, little sister.” Horde Prime’s smile widens. “But you do, don’t you? I see it in your eyes. You want to know what is right. You want to know what to do.”

Of course she wants to know what to do. She’s always been looking for a purpose. She—she has one, doesn’t she? She’s She-Ra. Protector, warrior. That’s who she was born to be.

That’s who she is.

“I’m She-Ra,” she tells him, stupidly, and he throws back his head and laughs.

“I know you are, little sister.” Then he lowers his head and leans in close, palm still pressed against the glass. “But you fight against it. You refuse to realize yourself.”

She knows this. She’s had trouble transforming. She recalls, dimly, a task she had to do, and an inability to do it because she was distracted, confused, afraid—

“I can’t be afraid,” she breathes soundlessly, and Horde Prime nods.

“You won’t have to be,” he says, his face entirely solemn. “Child—” he listens in just a tad closer— “would you like me to help you fulfill your purpose better than you ever have?”

It’s wrong, one part of her screams, but the rest of her is entirely confused. She’s afraid, lost in pain of a battle she doesn’t remember, and the sweetness of certainty calls her like a siren. She’s lost her purpose, she recalls vaguely, and she never found it. She failed, probably, and she’ll fail again if she doesn’t get it right.

Still, she hesitates. “My friends,” she whispers, and she’s not sure he can hear her, but she needs to ask all the same. “My friends—I need to keep them safe—”

“Oh, little sister.” His smile is so wide his lips might crack from it. “I can assure you, your friends will be one better.”

Hope flares up in her. “They will?”

“Of course.” He states it so matter of fact that she has to believe. “They won’t just be safe. They’ll be brought into the light. By your hand.”

“By my hand,” she breathes, and her palm is pressed against the glass, her heart going fast, pain dragging at her limbs, but it doesn’t matter. The clarity of obedience draws her, sinking sweet claws into her back.

As She-Ra, she is sure. In the light, she knows what to do.

“Show me how,” she commands, and Horde Prime laughs, then reaches for a lever.

“Of course, little sister,” he says. “But I must warn you—this is going to hurt.”

She doesn’t have time to answer him. His hand reaches the lever, and with a satisfied smirk, before she even can think twice about her decision, he pulls it down.

Her screams are soundless, but they travel all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not me adding literally all the possible adora angst i can


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm not sure if it's too much to update once a day, but that's roughly when I finish chapters and I am impatient, so... ya know.
> 
> Anyway, seriously thank you all for reading, I'm having a lot of fun with this au and I hope yall are too!

“You know, it’s not as bad as it sounds,” Bow tells her as they duck outside, through the trees and into the clearing that holds Mara’s ship. 

“What isn’t?” she asks, and he waves a hand to the enormous ship squatting in front of them. It’s riddled with marks and scratches, and the hull looks as beaten and bruised as if it had just—

Well, as if it had gone through an asteroid field.

“The ship.” Bow moves to the entrance of the ship, an open maw slashed into the underbelly, without waiting for her to follow. He seems to have entered a slight trance, the sort that Catra recognizes from her time with Entrapta. Glazed over eyes, interest shining across their faces.

Tech people. She shakes her head as she follows him into the ship.

“If I’m being honest, it looks pretty bad,” she tells him. Bow grimaces as they enter the main cabin, but doesn’t turn to respond. Instead, he goes immediately for the main controls.

“The outer shields took most of the damage,” he says as he crouches by an opened panel, running his fingers along the circuitry. Feeling something out, though Catra has no idea what. “The inside of the ship is fine. Of course, without Entrapta—”

He stops then, and Catra freezes. Feels her heart pumping ice cold blood through her chest.

Of course Entrapta would be captured. Catra shouldn’t even care. She doesn’t deserve to, after all she’s done to her. But the caring unfurls itself anyway, spreading through her chest and squeeings her lungs.

It’s not as bad as the news about Adora, maybe because she already had some inkling of Entrapta’s fate. Still, it hurts all the same.

“They took her, didn’t they?” she says slowly, even though she knows the truth. It was more or less said to her, on the day they all fell back from the fight.

Bow stiffens slightly, his shoulders squaring. “We think so.” He doesn’t turn around, his hands already tangled in wires. “Unless…”

Unless she’s dead, but of course he won’t say it. Not that Catra is keen to either. The thought pits her stomach anyway, dreadful and heavy—just another weight to add to the grief pushing her into the ground.

She can barely handle Adora. She doesn’t have room to care about Entrapta, but she does anyway, and it strikes her as completely unfair.

“I’m sorry,” she says, even though she knows it doesn’t help, and it’s not her fault anyway. Well, it is her fault in the sense that she opened the portal in the first place, but the Rebellion seems to have moved past that, so she’s trying to pretend she can too. “I miss her.”

“Yeah.” Bow is still paused, poised with the wires, but then he gives a small shake of his head and starts to work again. “Me too. But we’ll find her again, if she’s with Horde Prime.” He taps the metal panel he’s working against, and it clangs. “We just have to get her up and running again.”

“Fine.” Catra hesitates, then squats down beside him and peers over his shoulder. “Anything I can help with?”

Bow looks at her then, studying for a long moment, then lets a slow grin spread across his face. It doesn’t entirely reach his eyes, but it’s a good mask. She would know—she’s worn enough of them.

“Well,” he says, “you can start by handing me things.”

Catra stares at him. Then, she lets out a loud groan.

—————

When the briefing ends, Glimmer does as she usually does, and lingers until the last people have left. It takes some time—briefings can be as social as they are business, even though they shouldn’t be—but at last, it’s only herself and her father left.

She doesn’t beat around the bush.

“Axos is closer, isn’t it?” she asks, and watches King Micah pause halfway through swiping away the displays. His fingers twitch once, and then he sighs and turns to face her.

“I didn’t want to say that in front of everybody, because I’m still not sure if it’s a pattern,” he says, but his eyes are grave and she knows he’s thinking the same thing she is. “But yes, Axos is closer to Etheria than the last planet.”

“The last planet She-Ra conquered.” Glimmer frowns, her brow pulling together, and tries to swallow the worry eating away at her chest. She’s not entirely successful.

“Yes.” King Micah brings up a hand to massage the bridge of his nose. He looks, in this moment, dreadfully old, though Glimmer knows it’s Beast Island that put so much age upon him, and less so the passing time. “Glimmer, it might be a coincidence.”

“Or it might not,” Glimmer points out, and she hates more than anything the idea she’s spelling out, but at the same time, she doesn’t. “It could mean that she’s coming back.”

“At Horde Prime’s command.” With a weary sigh, King Micah collapses into his seat, the seat he hadn’t occupied the entire meeting. “Glimmer, I know Adora is your friend—”

“Best friend—”

“But I don’t think she’s coming home in the way you want her to.” He looks up at her with his dreadfully aged eyes, and she bites back a retort she knows won’t help. Because her dad is probably right, even though she hates to admit it. The thought that Adora might be coming back to conquer Etheria where Horde Prime couldn’t sends waves of fear through Glimmer, the kind of fear that keeps her awake for hours through the night.

“I thought Horde Prime left because the magic poisoned Etheria for him,” she throws out in one last, desperate attempt. “I thought we were safe. For a while, at least. And with the alliance—”

“The alliance is helping,” King Micah acknowledges with a tired tilt of his head. “We even have ships in orbit around the planet, and I haven’t told Bow yet in case it falls through, but we’re negotiating trade on parts for Mara’s ship. It’s something. But with She-Ra—”

He breaks off and shakes his head. He doesn’t need to say it. Glimmer knows exactly what he’s talking about. With She-Ra routing every planet in her path, it’ll only be a matter of time until the tentative alliance crumbles. And if it does, Etheria will be left defenseless against her, ripe for the picking.

And maybe Horde Prime can’t come back with the magic that now permeates Etheria’s landscape, but She-Ra, Glimmer knows, will thrive off of it.

When she’d become queen, Glimmer had been forced to consider every threat that might confront Etheria. She had ruminated upon She-Ra only briefly, before stubbornly tossing out the possibility. It was to impossible to consider; too far-fetched. Adora, out of anybody Glimmer knew, was too good to turn evil. She’d do what was right, even if it killed her.

But She-Ra, under Horde Prime’s command…

It’s too terrible of a possibility to think about. And yet, they had to; to ignore it might very well be to doom the planet.

Some days, Glimmer wishes she had never become queen at all. No, scratch that; most days, she wishes she had never become queen at all.

At the very least, now she has her father to shoulder half of the responsibility. So as he trails into silence, gloomily considering the situation facing the both of him, she watches him and desperately tries to think of a solution.

“Do you think we stand a chance of rescuing her, dad?” she asks after the silence stretches for long moments without a break. “I mean, if we fix the ship?”

King Micah gives a small shrug, which is not nearly the reaction she’d hoped for. “I’d like to think so. At least, it’s worth a shot.” He stares at the table for a long second, then looks up and pins Glimmer with a tired gaze. “I don’t know Adora that well, Glimmer. But I know she’s your friend. And just for that, I’d do anything to get her back.”

Glimmer nods, a large lump rising in her throat. She chokes it back, and forces some semblance of evenness into her tone. It’s harder than she expects, given the practice she’s had over the past few days. Maybe her facade of normalcy is slipping—or maybe she just hasn’t been that good at keeping the grief at bay.

“Thanks, dad.” Her voice cracks on the last syllable, and even though she tries to hold back tears, they spring to her eyes anyway. It’s harder when she’s alone with her father, or Bow, and can let her guard down. In front of the others, she does her best to be strong, but with her loved ones—

“Oh, baby girl.” King Micah rises from his chair and crosses the room, wrapping her in an embrace she’s missed for years and never gets tired of. It makes her feel like a little girl again, to be held by her father, and maybe a couple of years ago she would have balked at the thought, but today she welcomes it.

It’s worth it, sometimes, to feel like a child when in every other moment she feels far older than she has any right to feel.

“We’ll find her.” His voice, muffled, reaches her ears, and because she’s too choked with grief to summon words, she only nods into his shoulder.

“I know, dad.” The words never make it past her lips, but she forms them anyway. “I know.”

————

“I don’t need to heal.” 

Her voice gives the lie away; it’s raspy and weak, like a sick child’s. In reaction, Horde Prime throws back his head and laughs, the genial laugh of a father.

“Sit down, child.”

She does as he says, despite the reluctance in her limbs. The thrill of battle is still alive in her limbs, forcing away the fatigue that always follows. She knows she’s injured—she always is, after a campaign. Still, that doesn’t mean she wants to go into the tank.

But to obey is to stay close to the light, and the light is all that she knows. It’s certainty and warmth, the basking rays of sunlight where none can be found in space. She has no chip, thanks to her special status, but she doesn’t need one.

She has a runestone, Horde Prime explained, and once he learned how to use it, that was all that they needed.

Unconsciously, as she sits, her hand goes to the stone in her breastplate, cracked and seeping green. It was blue once, she vaguely recalls, and whole, but that doesn’t matter anymore. The runestone has been purified in a way that she cannot be, in her lesser state. That’s why she now remains only as She-Ra, never returning to the other form of a girl she barely remembers.

That girl was weak, and conflicted. She-Ra is whole, and powerful, free of any uncertainty. Clarity of the light rules her actions, and Horde Prime guides her when she loses her way.

“Little sister, is the tank ready?” This is not directed at She-Ra. Instead, the words are aimed at the woman on the other side of the room, who glances up and gives a weak smile. Her hair flicks back and forth, seemingly of its own accord. She-Ra, as she always does, stares.

Her lesser form knew her once. She’s pretty sure of this, and she’s sure that Horde Prime knows that they were once familiar, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it, so neither is she. 

The woman has a name, She-Ra thinks, but she can’t remember what that is either. In her head, she calls her little sister.

“Almost ready!” the woman chirps, though her tone lilts unsteadily with fear. She hasn’t been brought under Horde Prime’s light, and She-Ra doesn’t understand why. She’s sure that she would prefer it, but for reasons unknown to her, Horde Prime has chosen not to give her the opportunity.

“Good.” Horde Prime nods, then turns to She-Ra and tilts his head. “Little sister, are you ready to be cleansed?”

“Yes, older brother.” She stands obediently, though her fingers are curling with displeasure and her feet wish to move in the opposite direction. She hates going into the tank, and she hates being healed. It reminds her only that she is weak, that she needs to recharge and recuperate after every battle. If she had the choice, she would keep going forever. She would tear across the universe to spread the light that Horde Prime has given her. It is, after all, only what’s right.

But it isn’t her decision to make. So despite the reluctance that drags at her limbs, despite her pride, she approaches the tank.

She’s tired too, she can feel it. In this form, her true form, injury and exhaustion are only irritants at the edge of her vision, but they still exist. Horde Prime, as always, is right to force her to heal.

Even if she hates it.

“Alright, we’re ready!” The woman gives a jaunty flick of her hair and steps back, so close she nearly brushes She-Ra’s elbow. Immediately, she jerks away, an apologetic look blooming across her face.

“Sorry Ado—sister,” she says, and sidesteps, away from She-Ra and to the control panel that maintains the tank. “You can hop right in! Upgrades should be running perfectly, and I’ve even reduced the pain threshold by half!”

“I told you that wasn’t necessary, little sister.” Horde Prime’s cold tones issue from behind She-Ra. Moments later, she feels a hand press upon her shoulder. “Pain is a necessary strengthener. She-Ra would do well to appreciate it.”

“I do appreciate it, brother,” She-Ra breathes, the touch of his hand on her shoulder an anchor, steady and strong. The closer she is to him, the closer she is to the light. It surrounds her, guides her. All of a sudden, the tank, and entering it at his command, doesn’t seem so hideous. 

“Good.” Horde Prime’s grip tightens, turning into a vice. “Then enter, little sister.”

She-Ra nods, and does as she asks. She doesn’t bother stripping away her suit—she doesn’t need to. The suit, torn and ragged though it is, will fix itself as her injuries heal. One of the benefits of the power she wields. 

The moment she enters the viscous liquid, tubes snake out and wrap around her ankles and wrists, prick through her skin and wind towards her throat. She allows them to thread through her body, trying not to gag, and reminds herself that it’s for the greater good.

“Outstanding, little sister.” Horde Prime is watching her, a smile dancing across his lips. She doesn’t smile in return—such expressions are forbidden—but she nods tightly, held in place by the tubes that bind her. “Are you ready to be cleansed?”

She doesn’t need to answer, because it’ll happen anyway. Still, she opens her mouth, forms the agreement that she knows he wants to hear.

For the greater good. The words glitter under the light, swamp her mind with utter certainty. Everything she’s doing is for the greater good, held in the palm of Horde Prime’s sure hand.

“I am, brother,” she says, and his grin widens as he nods towards the other woman. She-Ra’s eyes track to her, and she has a split second to note the sick expression on her face, before the lever drops and blinding, familiar pain slams through her mind.

A moment later she knows nothing, but that’s okay too. It’s all part of the plan, after all.

—————

Hours later, Catra returns to her bunk, soaked with sweat and covered in grease, her limbs heavy and her body aching. Bow’s summary of her job—handing him tools—had turned out to be an understatement. Once she’d gotten a handle on what he was actually doing, she’d quickly found herself neck deep in the machinations of the ship itself, relying on her natural agility to reach places he couldn’t, to his utter dismay.

“I didn’t think you’d be good at this,” he’d admitted after another small fix she’d managed to make under his direction.

“Lots of things break in the Horde,” she’d grunted, pushing away the panel she’d been working under. “If you want your equipment to work, half the time you have to fix it yourself.”

She didn’t add that she’d picked up plenty of tips and tricks from Entrapta, by osmosis if not by forced interaction—Entrapta had a habit of cornering anybody nearby and talking their ear off. Catra, even in her most standoffish, had been a victim more than once.

But Bow had only grinned, a real grin this time, and nodded approvingly.

“Well, I guess that’s just good for me,” he’d said, and she hadn’t returned his grin, but for a moment, she’d almost wanted to.

She doesn’t feel like grinning now. In fact, that moment seems light years away from her mood now. She’s only tired, and grimy, and teetering on the edge of a black hole of grief she doesn’t want to fall into. She can feel the waves of it, lapping at her consciousness, and knows that the moment she lies down is the moment it’ll overtake her.

She lies down anyway.

“Hi, Melog.” Melog whines as she collapses beside him, and pushes his head into her side as she lets one arm fall over his flank, fingers tangling in his fur. It’s comforting, though she’d never admit it, to have him by her side. Sometimes, she thinks he’s the only one who actually understands her, even if he happens to be from an entirely different planet.

She’s pretty sure, at least, he understands the feeling of her whole world being swept from beneath her feet.

“Melog,” she groans, a hideous crack in her voice, and twists her head to press her face against his side. “What the hell am I going to do?”

Melog mews in sympathy, but doesn’t otherwise answer. And of course, she knows in a broad sense what she’s going to do. Fix the ship, and find Adora. Save her from whatever Horde Prime has done to her. It’s simple when she lines it out like that, but when she really contemplates it, the entire plan stretches before her in dreadful uncertainty, like a die caught in the air and with no way to nudge it toward victory. She wants to see the end, but she can’t, and she’s so incredibly scared that she’ll land on the wrong side.

What if she fails? What if she never saves Adora? The idea is terrifyingly probable. After all, Catra couldn’t even escape Horde Prime the one time. Who is she to say she can save her best friend? Who is she to think she can fight the combined strength of Horde Prime and She-Ra herself? What if—

A knock on the door interrupts her thoughts, and Catra freezes, claws sliding out instinctively.

“Hello?” Her voice is horribly raspy. No use hiding her tears now, even though she knows she’ll try.

For a moment, there’s only silence. Then, a quiet shifting of footsteps on the opposite side of the door.

“Catra?” Glimmer’s voice reverberates through the metal, soft and unsure. For a moment, Catra considers ignoring her. She’s really not in the mood to talk, especially not when she’s so close to tears.

But Glimmer is almost-maybe her friend, or at least, she was for a period of time, and Catra is trying to become a better person. So after a moment of taut silence, she unfreezes, dropping her head against Melog’s flank, and sighs.

“I’m here,” she calls, and doesn’t bother getting up. The door creaks as it opens, and quiet footsteps pad across the floor.

“How are you holding up?” Glimmer’s voice is soft, and so sympathetic that Catra lets out a snort before she can stop herself.

“Really, Sparkles? That’s what you’re asking me?” With a huff, she cranks herself to her elbows and turns to face her, ignoring Melog’s complaint at the movement. “Whether I’m holding up?”

“Yeah, well—” Glimmer shifts awkwardly, her hands churning. “Just because you—well—you know—”

No, she doesn’t know. She stares as Glimmer drops off helplessly, hands moving in a halfhearted gesture. 

“—you’re the closest to her,” she finishes at last, the words falling from her lips with a grimace, as if she’d rather not say them. At this, Catra’s stare falls into a full-on gape.

“Are you kidding?” she asks in disbelief, and when Glimmer doesn’t answer, scoffs. “Okay, you’re not serious. You know me and Adora have fought each other for years, right?”

“And you’ve been friends for years too,” Glimmer points out, but Catra just shakes her head. She could do without the remind of their sordid history, good parts or otherwise. It’s incredibly tangled between the two of them, right down to that last moment in the woods, and the only clarity Catra can find in the whole mess is the immediate future. Find Adora, and rescue her. Beyond that, she has no clue.

“You and Bow are closer to Adora than I ever was,” Catra says, and turns away, her eyes finding the sole, shuttered window set into the wall. It’s a gloomy spot they’ve found to host the rebellion. “Adora barely likes me.”

“That’s not true.” Catra hears Glimmer’s footsteps as she moves closer, but doesn’t bother turning around. The words hurt because they’re true, and that just makes them worse. Adora likes Catra, maybe, but not in the way Catra wants it to be—not that she’d allow herself the thought. Any chance of that is long squandered, and even if it wasn’t before, she’s well and truly ruined it now. Running away one final time. Allowing Adora to be captured.

Adora may like her, but she shouldn’t. Catra doesn’t really want to parse things beyond that.

“Adora does like you, Catra.” Glimmer is closer now, uncomfortably close, and Catra wants to move away, but doesn’t have the energy. Instead, her ears flatten and her tail whips back and forth, a clear sign that she’s not in the mood to talk.

But of course, those signs are clear to those who know her well, and Glimmer doesn’t know her all that well—or maybe she’s just obtuse, because she takes another step forward, and reaches out to touch her shoulder.

Immediately, Catra flinches away. “Don’t touch me,” she snarls, hot fury flashing instantly to regret—and that’s new, the regret—but she doesn’t have time to take it back. Glimmer draws away first, apology crossing her face.

“Sorry,” she says, hands held up as if to calm, and Catra glares at her, but forces herself to swallow her retort. She’s supposed to be building bridges, she reminds herself, not burning them. That’s the only way she’ll find Adora. 

She doesn’t know how to fly a spaceship alone.

“No, I’m sorry,” she forces out, and resists the urge to turn back to face the wall. Her tail is still lashing, but she’s not bristling anymore, thanks to the distance Glimmer has opened between them. Small comfort. “I just—”

“I know.” Glimmer nods, and to Catra’s horror, there are tears sprouting in her eyes, spilling onto her cheeks. “I get it. I—I’m—”

“Hold on,” Catra says dumbly, frozen in the terror of imminent comforting. She doesn’t know how to do this for people, and especially not for people she might be friends with. Her only experience is an ill-wrought attempt at comforting Shadow Weaver, and she recalls exactly how that went. “You don’t have to—I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s okay.” Glimmer shakes her head, dragging her palm across her cheek, then lets out an enormous sigh-almost-sob and collapses on the edge of Catra’s bed, not even bothering to ask permission. “I just miss her!”

“Uh—” Catra stares, stunned by this admission. Since when do people open up to her? Why isn’t Glimmer talking to Bow, or her father, or—

Oh. Maybe because they both know just a little bit more about exactly what Horde Prime is like. Maybe because Catra, despite all her faults, is the only one who can understand.

“I miss her too,” she says without thinking, and the moment she says it, something bursts in her chest. Like a crack in a dam that’s finally reached the breaking point, it all spills out of her like water, slopping into the open air and splashing onto the floor. “It’s my fault, Glimmer. I’m so sorry. She asked me to stay and I—”

“Oh, shut up!” Glimmer wipes angrily at the tears now rolling freely down her face, and gives a vicious shake of her head. “Don’t be an idiot, Catra! Me and Bow went with her and we left! She said she had to do it alone and we were stupid and we thought—we thought—”

And with that she finally, fully, bursts into tears. Tears like Catra has never seen on Glimmer, tears of the kind she knows Glimmer would probably never show in front of anybody else. Tears which, by all rights, she would never show Catra.

But Catra understands, and something about that holds the two of them together.

“It’s not your fault,” Catra tells her, even if some part of her—the same part of her that wants to blame herself—screams that it is. She ignores it, and swallows a hard lump in your throat. “It isn’t, Glimmer. You couldn’t have—nobody—”

Nobody could have seen it coming. Everybody thought that Adora knew what she was doing, most of all Adora herself, which is stupid, because Catra knows she never knows what she’s doing. She relies on fists and strengths and her own dumb heart to carry her through, and sometimes, that’s not enough.

“It’s nobody’s fault,” she says, and when Glimmer just shakes her head, her eyes squeezed shut against the tears still rolling down her face, Catra hesitates, then scoots closer. “It’s not, Glimmer.”

Glimmer doesn’t answer. She just lets out a deep, rattling sigh, and wipes once more at her face, uselessly. Catra watches, uncertainty pitting her stomach.

She’s not good at this friend thing. She’s never been good at it, and it’s been awhile since she’s even tried hard enough for it to count. But Glimmer is probably definitely her friend, and Catra has failed so many times, but maybe there’s no time to try again like the present.

“It’s not your fault, Glimmer,” she says one last time, and then, tentatively, and making sure her claws are retracted, leans forward and wraps Glimmer in a hug. 

She half expects Glimmer to pull away, but she doesn’t. Instead, to Catra’s utter surprise, she buries her head in Catra’s shoulder and sobs. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, and Catra, half-frozen in awkward shock, can only manage a nod.

“S’fine,” she forces out, choking on her words, and realizes, to her horror, that tears are filling her eyes as well. In fact, they’re spilling over, splashing down her cheeks and staining Glimmer’s shoulder.

Because it’s all wrong, she thinks miserably. Glimmer is a comfort, but selfishly, she’s not the person Catra wants. Her embrace is only an echo of the one person who’s always managed to comfort Catra throughout the years, whose embrace she’s missed for far too long and never had the courage to find again after they reconciled. The last time Adora hugged her was on Horde Prime’s ship. Now, she’s faced with the reality that that might be the last time they’ll hug ever again.

“Are you okay?” Glimmer asks, her voic muffled into her shoulder, and Catra knows it’s a general question, but can’t even bring herself to lie.

“No,” she admits, and she doesn’t say why, because it’s pointless. Instead, she just lets Glimmer hug her, bridging the gap of friendship between them, and tries to pretend that it’s enough.

It’s not, but she’s always been good at lying to herself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thank you all so much for the lovely comments! Seriously, u all definitely motivate me to get the chapters out quickly (and not only bc im really enjoying advancing the angst). Also, on a related note, I have some family stuff today, so I'm not sure if I can get a chapter out tomorrow, but I hope so! If not, it'll be up the day after.
> 
> Thanks again for reading yall

The device in her hands—no bigger than her pinky nail—hums softly as she turns it over and over, her fingers thumbing the edge with careful precision.

“C’mon, c’mon,” she croons softly, as if the tone of her voice alone will allow the device to work. Unfortunately, it doesn’t. Then again, this time around her problem isn’t voice activation.

Technically, her device already works. In fact, it works even better than it had before, once she’d stolen a cheeky bit of tech from Horde Prime’s mainframe when he wasn’t looking. Probably, she shouldn’t have done that, but she has a feeling it’ll be worth the risk.

That is, if her friends ever pick up.

With a sigh, Entrapta turns the communicator over one final time, then balances it on her knee. It’s no use. She’s managed to reboot the system, programmed it to send a signal across space, but that will never matter if there’s nobody on the other end to answer. The most logical explanation is that they don’t realize she’s transmitting.

The least logical explanation is that they’ve abandoned her again, but she has to remind herself that irrationality has no place in scientific procedure. There’s no use in considering theories that don’t match the presented evidence, both past and present.

Her friends won’t abandon her because that’s not what friends do. Therefore, the most logical explanation is that they haven’t even realized she’s trying to send a message across the stars.

With a sigh, Entrapta swipes the device up into her hair, then tucks it into her pocket and turns around.

Only to jump at the sight of She-Ra, standing in the doorway.

“Oh! Hi!” She startles back, hair flicking protectively towards her pocket, then remembers that she probably shouldn’t give herself away, and forces herself to calm. Prehensile hair is a dead giveaway, unfortunately—almost as bad as Catra’s tail. She’d tried once to run a comparative experiment on Catra’s tail and her own hair, just to collect some qualitative data, but had been stopped halfway through. Catra, apparently, did not appreciate the idea.

She-Ra doesn’t respond, except to tilt her head to the side and regard Entrapta with dull curiosity. “Horde Prime has told me to collect you. He needs further improvements on the rehabilitation machine.”

“Oh.” Darn hair. It keeps flicking nervously about her head. “I’d love to! I actually have a few more ideas for pain reduction if Horde Prime will—”

“Horde Prime says no more pain reduction.” She-Ra delivers this calmly, as if she’s talking about the temperature of a bath, and not the screaming, writhing agony Entrapta watches her go through every time she enters the machine. It’s a far cry from the person Entrapta once recognized as her friend. Even her eyes are no longer their normal blue, but an unnerving green, the color stretching across both the white and the pupil. 

And the runestone on her chest. Cracked, damaged, maybe beyond repair. Entrapta’s heart aches to see it, and not only because she’s pretty sure Adora is still buried somewhere underneath. The runestone was an artifact, powerful and complex, and now it’s been utterly corrupted. Any chance of studying it is gone, along with any chance of fixing Adora. 

At least, so she thinks. If she could just get her hands on it—

“Little sister.” She-Ra’s cool voice interrupts her thoughts, and Entrapta’s head jerks up. “Horde Prime is waiting.”

“Oh. Oh, right! Of course!” Quickly, she scoops up her tools and shoves them in her pockets, then follows She-Ra out the door. The communication chip, tucked away in her pocket, hums softly, inaudible to anybody who isn’t searching. With every other second, she knows that it’s sending out a pulse signal across the stars, targeted right at Etheria.

Targeted right at her friends, if only they would answer.

—————

“Did you really steal this from the kitchens?” Adora’s smiling as she unwraps the ration bar, and Catra stares. She’s been doing that a lot lately, the staring, and she can’t put a reason to it, but she also can’t look away. Even in the gloom of their room, and the shadows cast by the bunk above them, Adora’s hair shines good and her eyes sparkle in the dim lighting. 

She looks pretty. That’s what Catra notices, despite her best efforts and no matter how she tries to ignore the fluttering sensation in her stomach. Adora manages to look pretty even when she’s getting pummeled in training or getting reamed out by Shadow Weaver. Even when she’s being dumb, or stuffing ration bars into her face.

It’s not fair, and at the same time, Catra doesn’t mind it at all.

“You bet I did.” Catra sprawls across the pillow so Adora can’t lay down, and curls her claws into the fluff of it, resisting the urge to tear. She’s not supposed to sharpen her claws on things like pillows and blankets and other people, and besides, she’s outgrown the petulant need to do so anyway.

Claws are weapons, Shadow Weaver has reminded her often enough. Nothing else. Which means that Catra uses them when she needs to, and puts them away when she doesn’t.

Except Adora doesn’t care if she keeps them out, as long as she doesn’t ruin her pillow, and sometimes Catra gets sick of doing exactly what Shadow Weaver tells her. She’s learned how to listen, sure, but she’s not a square like Adora.

Adora, who, even as she’s tearing into the ration bar Catra snuck her, looks stupidly beautiful.

“I can’t believe you got these.” Adora lets out a little moan between bites, the kind that comes out of going a week without food. She’d gotten gigged on the last inspection—missing her belt buckle—and doesn’t know that it was Catra who lost it in the first place.

Catra sure as hell isn’t going to admit that she lost it, but she’s not going to let her starve either. 

“Yeah, well, your rumbling stomach was keeping me awake.” Catra yanks her claws out of Adora’s pillow and tosses it idly in the hair, batting it up and down. “A girl’s gotta get her six hours, you know.”

“Oh, shut up.” Adora swipes the pillow out of the air and pushes it against Catra’s face, who huffs and shoves it away. “You’re just soft.”

“I am _not_ soft!” She aims the pillow at Adora’s head, but it misses and instead hits the ration bar in her hand, which goes flying to the floor.

“Hey!” Adora exclaims as the ration bar bounces once, twice, then settles, crumbs rolling under the bed. “I was eating that!”

“Sorry.” She tries not to sound too sorry as she sits up and wrinkles her nose at the crumpled remains of the ration bar. “I have more, though.”

“Not the gray kind.” Adora stares gloomily at the ration bar, feet swinging over the side of the bed. Catra winces.

“Well, no, but…” She’s watching Adora still, watching her stupidly pretty face, and that’s when she sees the wheels start to turn. “Wait—Adora, do _not_ —”

She’s usually fast enough, but surprise gives Adora the advantage. They lunge at the same time, Adora for the ration bar, Catra for her, and end up tumbling together to the floor, loud enough to wake the dead.

But not the other cadets, who, exhausted from their training, slumber on.

“Adora, no!” Catra hisses, but she’s trying to swallow a laugh at the same time, because of course Adora is dumb enough to get sick from eating food off the floor. “That’s gross!”

“It’s necessary!” Adora reaches for the ration bar, but Catra grabs her hand and pulls her away. “Five second rule!”

“It’s been five seconds!” Adora’s still struggling like a fish out of water, and by this point, Catra can barely keep a hold on her, if only because she’s trying to contain her laughter at the same time. “C’mon, Catra, let me have this!”

“Never, you weirdo!” With one mighty heavy, Adora lunges for the ration bar, but Catra’s fast, and even though she’s a second behind, she hits it at the same time. They land together, inches from each other, hands outstretched, and when Catra rolls over to shove Adora away, she finds herself instead looking right into her eyes.

Her eyes, barely two centimeters away. Her nose, so close they could almost be touching. Their lips—

“Gonna stop me?” Adora taunts, a wicked smile curving her face, and Catra only stares. She always has an answer—she’s quick that way too—but all of a sudden, her brain is blank. 

“I—I—” she stutters, and Adora’s expression drops into confusion. Her eyes track of Catra’s face, and stop on her lips.

“Catra?” she says, brow creased in worry. “Are you okay?”

No. Yes. The truth is, her heart is beating fast and her head’s all dizzy and she knows it’s not fever, but rather the heady presence of Adora’s body next to her own.

Their lips are close enough to touch. All she’d have to do is lean forward—

Catra blinks, and blinks again, and without warning, the world slips out from under her.

She wakes with that same heady feeling in her chest, the slow dizziness of a half-remembered moment, and blinks away tears at a ceiling so gray and dark it blends the edges into the walls.

She can’t remember if that dream ever actually happened. It doesn’t really matter. There are dozens more like it that punctuate her childhood and teenage years, and though she can’t count them on both fingers, she remembers easily enough the sense of them, as if she were tumbling through the sky without fear of ever hitting the ground.

But of course she did hit the ground, and kept going until she’d dug herself into rock bottom. Those moments—snatches of a life that no longer exist—only itch like a spider’s bite, irritating and painful. She has to resist the urge to scratch.

With a tear-stained sigh, Catra rolls onto her side to face the door. It’s shut, but light seeps in through the lowest crack, telling her that it’s just about time she rise to face the day.

Another day. It’s been over a month without her, and only twenty four hours since she’s learned about Adora’s fate. Somehow, it seems much, much longer.

“Alright, Melog.” One hand buries absentmindedly in his fur as she heaves herself to a sitting position, tail flicking lazily back and forth. Melog stirs, lets out a low sigh, but doesn’t otherwise awaken. So far, this is pretty typical for him. He likes mornings no more than she does.

But nowadays, mornings mean she has work to do. So Catra gives herself a shake, then stumbles to her feet and pulls on the loose uniform of the rebellion. It had been issued to her a month prior, but it’s only recently that she’s bothered wearing it.

She still doesn’t feel like she’s part of the rebellion, but they haven’t kicked her out, and now they have common goals. Or at least, she thinks they do. If she finds out they don’t—if finding Adora isn’t as first and foremost on their list as they say—then she’ll be the first to burn the entire place to the ground.

“Okay,” she mutters, and smooths the wrinkles out of her shirt. “Time to face the day.”

She has plenty of work to get done.

—————

She-Ra watches in idle disinterest as the other sister works on her rehabilitation tank. She’s deep into it, muttering and occasionally cursing in a good-natured tone, but none of this is of interest to She-Ra. Rather, her mind is far away, contemplating campaigns and battles and wherever Horde Prime will send her to next.

There are many planets that need to be brought to the light, Horde Prime has assured her, but She-Ra is impatient. It isn’t that she doesn’t care about those other planets—she does—but there are other things she cares about too.

There’s a planet out there, she knows, that she once called her home. Once she had friends, friends who she now knows to be misguided and afraid, floundering alone in the dark. Once, she was one of them. She doesn’t miss them—such emotions are impossible in the safety of Prime’s light—but she’s so very eager to show them the way. 

All planets are meant to be equal, or so Horde Prime says, so she harbors her wish in secret. Fans it like the weak flame of a candle, and uses it to push through the worst of battles.

All planets are meant to be equal, but more than anything, She-Ra wants to bring Etheria to the light.

But it is not time. That is what Horde Prime says whenever she attempts to bring it up. There are other planets to guide first, planets which, she understands, are attempting to ally against Horde Prime. 

They are scared, Horde Prime explains, because there are people who would rather be lost and afraid than trust in the safety of Horde Prime’s light. She-Ra knows that this is foolish. Once, long ago, she must have been one of them, but now she is so much wiser.

“Hey, She-Ra!” the woman yells across the room. She-Ra startles at her name—she doesn’t often hear it outside of fearful murmurings—and turns fully to face her. “Want to see what I’m doing?”

“I have no need to see your work,” She-Ra responds, a slight frown forming across her brow. Interacting with someone outside of Horde Prime’s light is strange, and not entirely comfortable. Mostly, it’s a mix of pity and sympathy she knows she probably shouldn’t feel, but beyond that, it’s just awkward. Like trying to talk to ants; they can’t comprehend, and therefore, until they gain the required knowledge, they don’t matter. 

The woman just waves a wrench, undeterred. “Oh, c’mon! Nobody else is here to appreciate how cool this is!”

She-Ra hesitates, and glances around the room. Indeed, nobody is around, but that means nothing. Horde Prime is always watching, and even though it’s not necessarily forbidden to view the woman’s work, that doesn’t mean it isn’t frowned upon.

She-Ra doesn’t want to be frowned upon.

But the woman keeps waving her wrench in an irritatingly friendly gesture, and when She-Ra doesn’t move, she gives in exaggerated sigh. “Pleeease?”

She probably shouldn’t. Still, the woman’s tone is familiar enough, and beseeching enough, that She-Ra finds herself stepping forward despite her best instincts.

“What do you wish to show me?” she asks as she approaches, sending one last cautious glance around the room to ascertain that nobody is present. 

“Oh, just this!” The woman spins around and jabs a finger at the tank’s control panel, which looks to have several new buttons. “I rewired the recall circuitry and boosted your ability to recall certain things!”

“Like battle tactics?” She-Ra sidles forward, perking up in interest. When she isn’t plugged into the rehabilitation tank or dispatched to a campaign, Horde Prime sends her off to a training room to plug in numerous strategies and victory tactics. Apparently, her instinctual combat responses—which usually involve head-on attack—are not enough to meet the goals that he has in mind.

“Er, not exactly.” The woman leans forward and jabs a button, then snatches a tube and holds it up. “Here, I can show you!”

She-Ra stares at the tube, uncertain. The woman’s suggestions, once again, teeter on the edge of forbidden. Though She-Ra knows there’s probably nothing wrong with demonstrating new technology, there’s still something about the woman’s offer that sets off an alarm.

She draws back. “I probably shouldn’t.”

“Oh, c’mon!” The woman waggles the tube. “Don’t you want to see the cool stuff I’ve been working on?”

She does, sort of. This whole interaction has a warm glow of familiarity to it, like a forgotten childhood memory. Stuck in place on a ship, she recalls suddenly, as the same purple haired woman who stands before her explains something long and incomprehensible about space.

The memory buzzes about her head like a fly. Quickly, she shakes it off. “No, I don’t. I have no reason to be here.”

And with that she steps back, the woman drooping in disappointment, and tries to ignore the strange sensation of loss in her chest. Like she’s missed something important, but such a feeling is ridiculous—there’s nothing to be missed under Horde Prime’s light. She has all she needs. 

The woman does not understand that. She exists, woefully, in the darkness, and maybe that’s why she’s so eager to draw She-Ra into its hands.

“Little sister,” She-Ra says, then hesitates. There’s a question on her tongue, one she shouldn’t be asking, but it tugs at her all the same. “Why hasn’t Horde Prime brought you into his light?”

The woman, for a moment, doesn’t seem to understand the question. She stares, puzzled, for a long moment, until realization finally hits. Then, she perks up. “Oh! You mean why hasn’t he brainwashed me?”

Is that how they see it? She-Ra wonders. No wonder ignorant souls flee. She wonders if she should explain the enormous difference that separates brainwashing from the freedom and warmth that is Horde Prime’s light, then decides that she doesn’t have the words to do so. Instead, she nods.

“Yes. That.” She sounds out the words carefully. “Why does he leave you like this?”

The woman grins, and taps the side of her head with her hair. “Because of innovation!” She jabs a finger at her chest. “See, science and machines are my bread and butter. Inventing is my forte, you could call it. Problem is, brainwashing stifles innovation. I mean, who would want to invent anything if they’re, uh, basking in Horde Prime’s light?”

She says the last part with an awkward, ironic lilt, but She-Ra barely notices. She only nods thoughtfully.

“You make the sacrifice to remain in the dark.” She rolls the words around on her tongue approvingly, and eyes the woman with new respect. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“What? Being free?” The woman tilts her head ponderously, and regards She-Ra with a strange look. Like she’s trying to see right past her, at something that doesn’t exist anymore. “Why? Did it hurt before?”

“What?” She-Ra frowns at the question. She’s not sure she understands it. The difference between darkness and light is not a matter of pain. It’s the simple matter of knowing what is right, and having the guidance to follow through.

All her life, she’s pretty sure, she’s been looking for the right thing to do. Now she’s found it, and she’ll cling to the path for as long as it’ll have her. It’s the only thing she knows how to do.

When she doesn’t respond further, the woman’s friendly smile drops from her face. She glances over her shoulder, then leans forward as if sharing a secret.

“Do you remember me, Adora?” she asks, voice dropped so low She-Ra has to strain to hear. Her hair fiddles with something behind her back. “It’s me, Entrapta! Don’t you remember? We were friends! We were on a spaceship together!”

“Friends—” She-Ra blinks, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of familiarity. Memories tug at her, coil around her ankles like seaweed in an ocean, pulling, tangling—

Friends. A spaceship. Sitting in a circle and laughing together, eating food made in a dinky ship kitchen, talking about who-knows-what, the feeling of warmth as if—

She-Ra blinks again, and realizes that the woman—Entrapta—has turned her back. Something pricks at her arm, and when she looks down, she finds the same tube that Entrapta had waved around earlier, now attached to her arm.

“Hey!” She yanks away and the tube jerks free, sling-shotting back to the control panel. Entrapta jumps, then whirls around, hands up in apology.

“Sorry!” she cries, cowering as if She-Ra is actually going to do something to her. “Just wanted to try something!”

She-Ra opens her mouth, then shuts it again and shakes her head. Anger is bubbling in her, but anger too is forbidden by Horde Prime, and so she suppresses it, pushing it away until there’s nothing but an ember. It holds in her stomach, small but burning, and comes out in words rather than action.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she says coldly, and turns her back, ignoring the way that Entrapta scrambles behind her, flicking dials and pushing levers that do who-knows-what. Part of her wants to turn around and go back, demand an explanation, but the greater part of her knows that further interaction is dangerous. She has lingered here long enough. She should return to her duties, and hope that soon Horde Prime will send her out on a campaign.

As she stalks away, hands curled into fists at her sides, she catches Entrapta’s voice as it floats across the room, the words barely audible. She’s not speaking to her, and so She-Ra ignores it.

“Day thirty seven: Subject seems to have vague memory of the concept of friends, but did not cooperate with further study. Will try again at a later time…”

The voice trails off despondently, and as it does, She-Ra gives one more shake of her head, pushing the conversation from her mind.

Focus on the light. That’s all she needs to do. Focus on the light, and in such she will see the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst and pain we love to see it


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: okay, that's enough Adora pain for the moment  
> me, rewriting this chapter at 3am: but what if-
> 
> I am truly sorry for everything Adora goes through in this fic. Yes it gets worse. it will probably get better at some point, but also wbk i love pain
> 
> and as always, thank you all for the kind comments and kudos! I really appreciate them.

“Bow.”

Something is beeping inside the ship, and it’s driving Catra crazy. She’s already at her wit’s end, haunted by both nightmares and bittersweet dreams during her past few attempts to sleep. Probably, nobody else can hear the beeping, but just because she has unnaturally good hearing doesn’t mean she’s crazy.

Bow, however, head deep in the panel for shielding, doesn’t answer.

“Bow.” Catra reaches out to nudge him none-too-gently with her foot. “ _Arrow boy_.”

“Yeah?” Bow’s muffled voice floats up through the machinery, then a moment later the boy himself appears. “What’s up?”

“That’s what gets your attention?” Catra rolls her eyes, then jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “Something is beeping, and it’s driving me insane. I want to know if the ship’s about to blow up.”

“Actually, the ship is doing pretty good.” Bow frowns, but pushes himself fully out from under the panel and straightens, then cups a hand around his ear. “I don’t hear anything.”

Catra bites back a cutting remark. “Of course you don’t,” she mutters instead, and twists around to scan the interior of the ship. With only the emergency lights on to save power, it’s lit in ghostly colors, the shadows climbing up the walls. “I have better hearing than you. Something is definitely beeping.”

“Uh, okay.” Bow, for all his annoyingly overbearing friendliness, is at least willing to listen. He leans forward and attempts to follow her gaze, even though it’s clear he has no idea what they’re looking for. “Where’s it coming from?”

Once again, Catra rolls her eyes. “If I knew that, I would have torn the damn thing out already. Uh, if it wasn’t important,” she adds as Bow opens his mouth. “Anyway, I think it’s from over there.” She waves a hand towards the controls. “Maybe.”

“Over there.” Bow’s eyes track over the control panels, spanning nearly the entire opposite wall, and a grimace flickers across his face. “Right. That narrows it down, I guess.”

“No, it doesn’t.” With a flick of her tail, Catra leaps to her feet, leaving Bow to scramble up behind her as she stalks across the room, ears turned forward. “How many things on this ship beep, anyway?”

“Uh, a lot.” Bow comes up beside her as she reaches the opposite wall, rubbing the back of his neck. When Catra shoots him a look, he cringes. “Listen, I didn’t design the thing! Mara did. Or somebody else. And Entrapta, a little bit.”

“Right,” Catra mutters, and sweeps a frustrated hand through her hair—she’s still not quite used to the length of it—before turning back to the controls. “Okay, well. It’s high-pitched, annoying, and beeps about once a second. Does that help?”

“Maybe.” Bow steps forward and runs a hand over the nearest controls, flicking a switch on the way. Immediately, the length of the control panel lights up in a cacophony of lights and holograms, before settling into a low hum. 

And the beeping continues, this time loud enough, Catra knows, for both of them to hear. Now, she can tell that it’s definitely coming from the left.

“Got it!” Bow exclaims and steps back, a victorious grin on his face. He claps his hands together and swivels to face Catra, still smiling, who has to resist another roll of her eyes.

“Should have known putting the ship on full power would have done that,” she says, and when his smile doesn’t fade, huffs and turns to the left. “C’mon. Let’s just turn the damn thing off.”

She doesn’t wait for him to follow, moving to the farthest left control panel, the function of which she can’t quite recall. They’ve made plenty of progress so far, but haven’t reached this end of the ship. Therefore, the beeping culprit, at least for Catra, remains unspecified.

“Hey, Bow,” she recalls as she reaches the panel, frowning at the single flashing light upon it. There’s other flashing lights now that the ship has been turned on, but this one is the source—up close, the beeping is a hideous assault to her ears. “What do we have over here?”

“Uh, temperature regulation, spatial controls, and com—” He comes up behind her and his voice dies like a radio pitched over a ledge. Not even a stutter. Catra frowns, and turns to him.

“Com what?” she asks irritably, her hackles slowly rising. One more beep, and she’s about to smash the panel, useful or no.

Bow just stares, then stretches out one shaky finger towards the single flashing light.

“Communications,” he whispers, and that’s when Catra gets it. Her eyes widen, ears flattening in surprise, and she turns back to the light.

It’s flashing, she realizes, in the exact pattern she recognizes from Entrapta’s old comms devices.

The pattern of an incoming message.

—————

For the first time in a long time, She-Ra dreams.

She isn’t strictly supposed to dream, but on the rare occasions she does, she dreams of battles. She dreams of planets conquered and glory captured and a billion people brought under Horde Prime’s light, by her hand. She has a vague idea that these dreams are fed to her through the slight telepathic connection she has to the Horde, but mostly, she doesn’t care.

Under Horde Prime’s light, she is given vision of the future, and she basks in it.

But this time, for no reason at all, she doesn’t dream of the future she could have. Instead, she dreams of a past she left behind.

They’re only flashes, indistinct and ephemeral. A childhood growing up in the Fright Zone, training for battle, and years fighting on the wrong side, and friends she never should have made and a girl she remembers that she probably shouldn’t. A friend, or maybe an enemy, but the distinction is confusing because when she dreams of her, she feels only warmth and longing.

In her dreams, they’re together, and she’s no longer She-Ra. She’s a girl in a red jacket and her favorite pair of boots, holding hands with her best friend as they walk through fields she can’t remember existing. She’s got her hair in a ponytail, but one strand has come loose, and the other girl glances at her, then smirks and reaches over to push it back. When she does, she leans in closer than she should, and doesn’t immediately pull away.

Adora, without thinking, blushes.

Then she wakes up.

With a gasp, cold sweat sheening on her forehead, She-Ra jerks into a sitting position, and for a split second, doesn’t know where she is. Her body feels wrong, too big and itchy and the skin too tight, and the runestone in her chest aches and throbs with a pain she didn’t know existed.

She’s wrong. Everything is wrong. She’s not supposed to be—

With a deep, steadying sigh, she returns to herself. Sucks in a breath, lets it out, and does it again and again until the wrongness fades away and the light seeps in, warm and welcoming.

It was a waver. Nothing more. The vestiges of a life that doesn’t exist anymore, nor has any right to exist. A memory left over, or not a memory, but a dream, but the problem is that she shouldn’t be having dreams like that because she is pure and whole and untainted under Horde Prime’s light, not—

She’s panicking again. She realizes it suddenly, feels it in the hitch of her breath. The dream, gone though it is, tugs at the edge of her mind, beckoning and repellent all at once. It’s stuck on her like a burr, pricking into her skin, and she has to dig it out.

She shouldn’t be having these dreams, she thinks guiltily, and shame rises as readily as a wave. Clearly, she’s not as whole as she thought, if her subconscious can betray her so easily. There can be no room for doubt when she goes into battle, which means there can be no room for doubt outside of it.

She needs to be whole. She needs to be cleansed. She needs to be—

…forgiven.

With a shuddering breath, She-Ra squares her shoulders and swings her legs over the side of her simple bed.

She knows what she needs to do.

She’s always been good at obedience. Though she has no specific memory to back this up, the truth of it sits steady in her mind, as recognizable as the back of her hand. Her whole life she’s been a good soldier, and even if she was misguided at one point in time, she now walks squarely the right path. 

Obedience is easier than rebellion, and makes so much more sense. More than anything, She-Ra likes her life to make sense.

She finds Horde Prime in the central space of the ship, chair turned to face some hologram she doesn’t bother to read, out of politeness.

“Older brother.” She approaches hesitantly, his title awkward upon her tongue. It’s always strange to address him by such a familiar name, when he towers so far above her in her mind. Horde Prime insists that they are all equal, but She-Ra is content to stand under his light, rather than shoulder to shoulder. “I am sorry to interrupt—”

“You are never an interruption, little sister.” Horde Prime waves the hologram away then turns his chair around and leans forward, templing his hands under his chin. “But it is the middle of your sleep cycle. I didn’t expect you awake.”

“I know.” The dream, now that she’s awake, seems foolish to mention, but the guilt urges her on. She knows she won’t be able to sleep until she frees herself of the transgression. “But I—I had a dream.”

Horde Prime raises one eyebrow, intrigued. “A dream.”

“Yes.” Shame surges over her, hot and heavy, and she nearly trips on the next words. “A dream about my past.”

“Your past.” Horde Prime betrays no emotion, but she imagines she can feel his disappointment emanating from his very being. “I see. What was this dream?”

“I dreamt—” She hesitates, all of a sudden embarrassed. The contents of the dream aren’t technically private, but the feel it anyway. To spill them seems hideously open.

But there are no secrets under Horde Prime’s light. So she hesitates only for a moment, then surrenders.

“I dreamed I was with a girl. A girl I knew,” she adds, and then flushes. “And…we were holding hands.”

And she had looked at her and felt warm. And she had wanted to lean in and—

She doesn’t mention these things. She can’t. Instead she stands there awkwardly, resisting the urge to toe a hole into the floor, and waits for Horde Prime’s reaction.

“I understand.” Horde Prime drops his hands and rises suddenly, then descends the few steps to stand directly in front of her. This close, he isn’t much taller than she is, but she drops her head anyway in deference. “It seems you haven’t entirely stepped into my light.”

“I haven’t—” Objection rises up in her, and her head shoots up. “I have! Older brother, it’s not my fau—”

“Silence, little sister.” A raised hand stops her protests. She shuts her mouth, flushing against the unfairness, but doesn’t argue. Dimly, at the back of her head, the ludacris urge to rebel rises up, but it’s gone in an instant, and she feels only like a disciplined child.

Horde Prime surveys her with a cold eye. “Hmmm. Yes.” He circles her, and she stands there, trying to quell the anxiety rising in her stomach. To risk Horde Prime’s displeasure is to risk being thrown from the light, and she can’t fathom such a possibility. She remembers vaguely the fear and uncertainty she felt before he found her, the feeling that she was distracted and mixed up and making all the wrong choices, and her chest aches at the thought she might return to that. Failure looms in her mind, and she shies away from it instinctively. 

“I believe you are afraid, little sister,” he says, and without thinking, she nods. “What are you afraid of?”

“Failure.” The word rises automatically to her tongue. “I’m afraid of failure.”

“You believe you will fail me.” He gives it as a statement, not a question. “That you will fail the mission.”

“Yes.” And then there will be no light brought to Etheria. Her friends will live in the darkness. She will never fulfill her destiny. Fears swirl about her head and she chokes on them. “Older brother, I—”

“Quiet, child.” A frown pulls at his brow as his eyes roam over her form, sharp and critical. He circles her slowly, and she doesn’t follow him. She stares straight ahead, fear churning in her gut.

She can’t fail. She must be strong.

“Perhaps there are some lingering…doubts, in your mind.” He pauses at last in front of her, and she forces herself to look up and meet his gaze.

“Doubts?” she ventures. He nods.

“You waver,” he says, his frown deepening. “You worry. You are distracted, little sister.”

“I’m not—” she starts, and then stops again. Because he’s right, isn’t he? That’s always been her problem. Distraction.

She must be free of such things.

“What should I do?” she asks, desperate, and a smile curves across his face.

“I believe I can help with that,” he says. “Now tell me, little sister—do you trust me?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “With my life,” she says, and means it. His smile widens.

“Good,” he says. “Then—and I truly am sorry—but this may hurt a bit.”

“Wha—” she starts, and never finishes. His hand claps against the side of her head, more powerful than such a simple physical blow could be expected to be, and a split second of pain bursts across her temple before her eyes roll back into her head and she crumples to the floor.

————

For a moment, both Bow and Catra just stare. They’re frozen, and in that moment, Catra feels all that hope that she hasn’t allowed herself to feel for—oh, years, maybe.

Then Bow lunges forward, and presses the button.

For a horrifyingly long moment, there’s only static. It crinkles through the air, then abruptly flattens, and a voice comes through. Clearly recorded, repeating over and over again.

“Hello, hello? I’m broadcasting to my friends on Etheria. If you hear this, contact me on frequency 12.9, as quickly as you can. Oh, this is Entrapta, by the way!”

And then it repeats. “Hello, hello? I’m—”

Bow gapes at the button, mouth open. “She’s alive,” he whispers softly. “Entrapta’s alive.”

“She’s alive.” Slowly, Catra shakes her head, torn somewhere between admiration and relief so strong it nearly sends her tumbling. It’s almost surprising, to realize she cares to much about her. Then again, they’ve been friends for a while, haven’t they?

Then she realizes just what Entrapta’s survival might imply, and lunges for the controls. 

“She has to know something about Adora!”

“Wait, Catra—” Bow lunges forward as well, just as she reaches the controls. “Do you know how to work the—”

“No, but don’t just stand there, arrow boy! Show me!” Hands hover uselessly over the controls, but Bow is there a moment later, and with sure fingers he plugs in the correct frequency, running dials and pulling levers to work the communication system. It takes a few seconds, but at last the message cancels out and a new wave of static starts up, this one familiar enough to Catra to recognize as an outgoing signal.

Bow doesn’t waste a moment, but grabs the radio and brings it to his mouth. “Entrapta? Do you read? This is Bow and Catra, we got your message—”

He repeats this over and over again for what seems like forever, though Catra knows in reality it can’t be more than a few minutes. They stretch on impossibly long, and for a while, there’s no answer.

Then the line crackles, and a familiar whisper echoes over the line.

“Hello?” The voice is hoarse and low, like she’s trying not to be heard. “Bow? Catra?”

Catra has to hold her breath to stifle her sigh of relief. Bow does no such thing; his shoulders sag so low that Catra thinks he might collapse to the floor.

“Entrapta, you’re alive!” He shouts it, then winces and immediately quiets himself. “I mean— _you’re alive._ ”

“I am!” Entrapta’s voice crackles excitedly over the line, all caution seemingly forgotten. “You found me! I knew you would! According to past experience you’ve historically been good at finding people in space—”

“Entrapta!” Impatience overriding, Catra snatches the radio from Bow and, ignoring his protests, brings it to her own mouth. “Is Adora okay?”

There’s a pause. A long pause, and Catra’s heart sinks.

“You mean She-Ra?” Entrapta says at last. Her voice is quiet.

Bow gives Catra a worried look, who ignores him. Instead, she stares a hole into the control panel, forehead creased, trying not to let her chest crack into pieces.

She-Ra means nothing. Entrapta’s tone means nothing. She has to believe that, or she’ll fall apart.

“What happened to her?” she asks, quiet. “Entrapta—is she okay?”

“Uh—” There’s a muffled pause, and Catra can almost see Entrapta wavering with uncertainty. “Er, well, that depends on what you qualify as fine. Physically—”

“Entrapta.” It’s Bow who grabs the radio back, and Catra lets him have it. Her fingers have gone numb. Her chest has gone numb. 

Bow eyes her worriedly as he speaks into the radio. “Can you explain what’s happening to Adora?”

“Oh—sure!” Entrapta brightens at the question, probably because it requires a clear explanation. “Well, the thing is, she’s not really Adora anymore. She’s She-Ra. You know, eight feet tall, wears white—”

“We know.” Bow is watching Catra carefully, and she wishes he wouldn’t. Her claws are digging into her palms hard enough to hurt. “What did Horde Prime do to her?”

“Oh, he—” an audible gulp— “technically speaking, he corrupted her runestone and used it to brainwash her. Of course, that’s my hypothesis as an outside observer. I need to gather more information—”

“Entrapta, can you help her?” Bow interrupts, his voice entirely too gentle, Catra thinks, for the situation. Then, he’s always been good at that, defusing a situation and focusing people on a goal. Catra is the opposite; she tears people apart, sometimes without even meaning to. Even now, she has to resist the urge to shout.

She closes her eyes, ignoring Bow’s glance, and tries not to think of Adora the way Catra was, hooked up to a machine and writhing in agony as it feeds her into a network against her will, as it brings her into the so-called light—

“—been trying,” Entrapta is saying, and Catra tunes back in, ears turning forward. “But getting close to her is the problem. Er, not to mention that even if I get her to remember who she is, her runestone is corrupted, which means if she becomes Adora again, she might not be able to become She-Ra anymore. Which—”

“I don’t care about that,” Catra interrupts, opening her eyes. Bow is still holding the radio, but he doesn’t protest when she swipes it from his hand and brings it to her own mouth. “Entrapta, you hear me? I don’t care if she never becomes She-Ra again. You _have_ to help her.”

“Of course!” Entrapta chirps, voice crackling, then hesitates. “Only problem is, if we don’t have She-Ra, how are we going to escape Horde Prime’s ship?”

Bow beckons for the radio again, and she hands it to him wordlessly, mind turning. Problems are springing up one by one, and she doesn’t know how to fix them. And why would she? She’s just a useless, failed Force Captain, the kind of person who would destroy a world out of spite and couldn’t even come back for her best friend when she needed her most. How could she possibly know what to do? How can she succeed?

She can’t fail Adora, but all her life, she’s failed. So how the hell is she supposed to win this?

“Entrapta, we have an idea,” Bow is saying, and Catra listens, if only because she has no idea what to do. “We’re trying to get Mara’s ship space-ready, but—”

An unholy squeal of excitement cuts him off. “I can help!” Entrapta crows over the line. “Let me help! I know what to do!”

Bow, once again, nearly sags with relief. “That’s good,” he admits, his voice practically a sigh. “That’s great, actually. Entrapta, if we fix the ship, do you think you could—”

“Distract Prime and ready our escape?” Catra can practically feel Entrapta vibrating with excitement over the line. “You mean hack into his network and reprogram She-Ra and the rest of his ship?”

“Uh—” Bow exchanges a glance with Catra. “Yes?”

“Already started!” Entrapta replies. “Consider us ready to be rescued! Just, um, as soon as you get the ship ready. Which would be really nice if you did it quickly, actually.”

“We’re going as fast as we can,” Bow replies, and as he glances to Catra, a slow, hopeful grin spreads across his face. As if they might stand a chance against whatever Horde Prime has up his sleeve.

Catra isn’t sure if she believes they stand a chance, but she tries to return his smile anyway. Then she beckons for the radio, and when Bow hands it over, brings it to her mouth.

“Entrapta?” she asks, cringing at the hesitation in her voice.

“Catra! Hi!” Entrapta’s voice echoes over the line. “I think this is going to go a lot better than the portal, by the way. Usually, ships are far less likely to destroy reali—”

“Entrapta.” Catra takes a deep breath, and wills herself not to let any emotion seep into her voice. She can feel Bow watching her, and she hates having an audience for this, but she has to say it. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Oh—sure!” Entrapta sounds surprised, probably because Catra usually demands, rather than asks, favors.

“Can you, uh—” She’s embarrassed just saying it, but worry overrides her. “Can you…keep an eye on Adora? For me?”

There’s a moment of surprised silence on the line. Then, Entrapta’s voice pipes up.

“Of course! That’s what friends do, isn’t it?” She says it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. As if Catra hasn’t betrayed her multiple times, apology or no.

“Thanks,” Catra manages, and then, because she really is starting to get emotional, thrusts the radio back to Bow and turns on her heel. “I’m—telling Glimmer,” she chokes out, and takes off, before Bow can question her. She doesn’t look back, but as she reaches the door, can hear Entrapta’s excited tones crackling once more over the line.

“I knew you guys would figure it out! Once I reconfigured the tech I thought it was only a matter of time, and then me and Adora—”

Maybe it’s the hope she hasn’t allowed herself to feel, or maybe it’s the relief of finding out that both her friends are alive, if not well, but by the time Catra steps out of the ship, she has to stop and take a breath, just to keep the tears from coming.

At least this time, she thinks with a laugh that never makes it past her throat, they aren’t all tears of grief.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEET im back
> 
> dont really have much to say except THANK YOU ALL for the lovely comments, i hope u enjoy this chapter

Catra doesn’t go back to the ship. She knows she doesn’t need to—if she’s guessing right, if Entrapta can stay on the line long enough, she’ll be giving Bow loads of advice for fixing the ship that Bow will remember and Catra, despite her base savviness with fixing things, probably won’t. 

Instead, head spinning and a vague task in mind, she goes to find Glimmer.

She’s not sure where to look. She doesn’t think there’s a briefing going on, but she doesn’t always pay attention to the briefings anyway. All she knows is that Glimmer is almost certainly not in her room—she’s too busy, always—but that doesn’t give her much to go on.

In fact, Catra is almost tempted to bypass the task and go straight to her own room to process, but she’s pretty sure that’s what being a bad friend entails. Besides, Glimmer deserves to know that Entrapta’s alive, at least.

Catra doesn’t think about the other part, the things that Entrapta said about Adora. She’s not quite ready for that, even though they sit in her chest like stones, heavy and cold.

For lack of a better idea, she wanders. Past Glimmer’s room first, which, as expected, stands empty, and past the briefing room, the door of which is shut, only a dim light shining through the bottom-most crack. 

Probably empty. Or at least, she hears no voices emanating from within. Catra hesitates, tail flicking indecisively, then shrugs and moves past.

Only for the door to open behind her.

“…Catra?”

It’s not Glimmer. Rather, it’s a voice Catra recognizes, and doesn’t particularly want to talk to.

But she can’t just ignore King Micah.

“Hi, King Micah.” With a stifled sigh she turns around and straightens, trying to look like she cares about this conversation. Vaguely, she wonder if King Micah’s presence indicates that Glimmer might be close by. They’re usually close together, either planning or making up for lost father-daughter bonding time. “Do you know where Glimmer is?”

“Surprisingly, no.” King Micah frowns, like this is some fatherly oversight of his. “She might be checking on the supply train reports, though. But actually, I’m glad I found you.”

“Oh.” That doesn’t bode well. So far, Catra has been counting on King Micah’s ignorance of who she actually is to remain in the Rebellion. She doesn’t need him paying attention to her, or beyond that, her history. “Why do you need me?”

Maybe it comes out too defensive. King Micah’s frown deepens, and he steps forward, eyes roaming over her face.

“I need you to pass a message on to Bow.”

“Oh.” _Oh_. She relaxes in an instant, hackles lowering, relief washing through her. Of course it would be something so mundane. She’s only paranoid, caught on the edge of the idea that she might be thrown out at any moment. She needs to relax. She needs to pretend like she belongs here, at the very least, so she can stop worrying. “What’s the message?”

“We’ve managed to establish a deal with Tiria.” His eyes track over her face, slight suspicion creasing his brow, but he doesn’t let it rise to the surface. “They said they can ship us parts for Mara’s ship, assuming they—”

Then he pauses. Words hang in the air, not quite said, and Catra leans closer, suspicion of her own rising.

“Assuming they what?” she asks, studying him. King Micah, despite his authoritative demeanor, is not very good at hiding things. His mouth is already curving into a frown, his expression backpedaling, and she can see the secrets shuffling away behind his gaze.

“Assuming they maintain good trade relations with us,” he says at last, and it’s so far from whatever he was going to say that Catra wants to laugh right in his face. She doesn’t. Instead, she pulls on what she hopes to be a neutral expression and nods, and it’s only a second later that what King Micah has said hits her.

“Hang on—parts?” Parts for the ship. Expedited repairs. A better chance at getting them into space, sooner rather than later. Hope rises unexpectedly in her stomach, swelling like a balloon, and she nearly can’t speak for it. “You mean to fix—”

King Micah nods. “That’s what we’re hoping. We should be getting them in soon. I was hoping you would pass the message on to Bow, and—”

“We made contact with Entrapta.” The words burst out of her unexpectedly, and she pauses, taken aback. Of course, she would be expected to tell King Micah at some point, but the words hadn’t come out of any desire to actually pass on the information. Catra is used to keeping plans to her chest, even when they benefit the whole. She hadn’t even considered telling King Micah until after she’d told Glimmer.

But Entrapta’s message is hopeful, and so too is the news that they might be receiving parts—which means that, the more hopeful the mission is, the less chance that the Rebellion will chuck it in the bin.

Which is why she probably should have told King Micah the moment she’d found him.

King Micah’s eyebrows rise in surprise, and then an abrupt grin spreads across his face. He looks, unexpectedly, delighted. Like it’s his own child on that ship, and not a girl and a princess he barely knows. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Catra says, and as she says it the air rushes out of her in one enormous sigh of relief. “She’s going to keep in contact with us and guide us through repairs. I think—uh, I think this mission has a good chance of succeeding.”

She throws the last part in just in case King Micah is thinking otherwise. He doesn’t look as if he is. Rather, he’s regarding her thoughtfully, hope sparkling in his eyes.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says, and his grin, buried under his beard, is genuine. “ I’ll let Tiria know we could use those parts as soon as possible. Assuming all goes well, they should get them to us soon.”

There it is again, that strange phrasing. Catra frowns, the hope in her chest fading slightly.

“Assuming all goes well,” she repeats, half an invitation for further explanation, and half an interrogation. King Micah doesn’t respond to either.

“Yes,” he says, and with a dip of his head, sidesteps Catra to move behind her. He still looks like he’s just gotten extraordinarily good news, but that frown has returned once more to his brow, wrinkling his forehead. “Thank you for telling me, Catra. I’ll alert the others.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, but moves past her and down the hall, leaving her to turn and watch him go, confusion mingling with trepidation. Trepidation that she doesn’t want to feel, not now.

But what, she wonders, could King Micah possibly be hiding?

————

As she fiddles with the tiny communicator in her hands, Entrapta can’t quite keep the happy grin off her face. She knows she probably shouldn’t be wearing it—they don’t really do emotions here—but she can’t help it.

Then again, it’s logical to presume that talking to friends would cause such a reaction.

She spent longer than she should have on the line with Bow, talking him through a series of increasingly complicated repairs to the ship, but she’s fairly confident that he’ll get them done—which is only all the better for her. While she does find the technology on Horde Prime’s ship fascinating, the constant risk her life is in, not to mention the cruel devices he keeps forcing her to create, really put a damper on the whole thing.

She’ll be happy to get back to her friends, her own planet, and her own technology. Maybe, if she’s lucky, she can even make off with some of Horde Prime’s devices to study.

That is, if she can figure out the most important device of all.

“Little sister.” And there she is. To her credit, Entrapta doesn’t jump this time. She’s gotten used to the eerie quiet of She-Ra’s footsteps, so different from the way Adora used to walk. In fact, She-Ra in general has become increasingly quiet over the past few days, and Entrapta can’t figure out why. 

It’s probably not her fledgling experiment, which she’s only managed to try to one time anyway. Her hypothesis suggests that Entrapta’s attempt at triggering Adora’s memories would actually restore some of her former self, rather than take it away. In short, she shouldn’t be getting quieter. She should be…getting more like Adora.

But she’s not. Instead, she’s stone serious and so silent it’s sometimes as if she’s not there at all, and though her eyes are entirely green, nowadays when Entrapta looks into them, she sees absolutely nothing. No hint of personality. Not the familiar spark she’d caught when she’d triggered some of her memories.

She’s Horde Prime’s She-Ra, through and through, which is entirely worrying.

“Hi, She-Ra,” Entrapta says nervously, and with a flick of her fingers, shoves the communication device up her sleeve. She-Ra doesn’t seem to notice this. Instead, she stares at her coolly, her eyes going right through her.

“Horde Prime would like to see you about the modifications to the weapons systems,” she says flatly. “He is not happy with the speed of your advances.”

“Oh, but innovation takes time!” And opportunity, Entrapta thinks, is fleeting. Carefully, she reaches into her pocket, thumbing the new recall device she’d crafted, no tubes necessary. This one should send out a wavelength strong enough to interrupt the runestone’s corrupted transmission, should it work. She hasn’t had a chance to test it yet. 

No time like the present.

“Besides, I’ve been working on the rehabilitation tank!” she babbles as she presses the correct button on the device, wincing slightly as a high pitched buzz hits her ears. It hurts, but that’s a good thing—it means it’s working, probably. “Got to get those modifications done too, you know, not to mention—”

“Horde Prime does not accept excuses,” She-Ra delivers in an emotionless tone. “He—”

And then she cuts off, a frown wrinkling her brow. Unbidden, one hand rises to her forehead.

“Wha—” she starts to say, and that’s when Entrapta leans forward.

“Adora, it’s me!” Her eyes roam over She-Ra’s face, searching for some hint of recognition. She-Ra isn’t even looking at her, her head cradled in her hands, but she gives a shake of her head, as if to deny.

“I don’t—” she starts to say.

“It’s Entrapta!” Entrapta continues. “Listen, I’m working on a device that—”

“You are late, little sister.” A voice looms over She-Ra’s shoulder, and quickly, Entrapta plunges her hand in her pocket and shuts the device off. The buzzing disappears in an instant, and so too does She-Ra’s confusion—she straightens, shoulders squared, and her eyes take on that same eerie, blank look. 

“Horde Prime!” Entrapta squeaks, and scrambles back, whipping her hands out of her pockets and tucking them behind her. “Nice to see you! She-Ra and I were just having a friendly conversation.”

“A friendly conversation.” Horde Prime’s voice brooks no amusement. He approaches, sidling up beside She-Ra, and lays a fatherly hand on her shoulder. She-Ra doesn’t move, but she blinks, and Entrapta watches a flash of confusion move across her face.

Success. Maybe.

“Conversations are unnecessary when conducting work,” Horde Prime continues, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “They encourage relations outside of the light. They trigger unseemly memories.”

“Unseemly memories?” Entrapta gulps, and out of the corner of her eye, watches that same confusion flicker once more over She-Ra’s face. She blinks again, hard, and Entrapta’s heart rate picks up.

A successful experiment is all well and good, but timing matters as well—and at the moment, the timing is positively terrible.

“Yes.” Horde Prime’s hand tightens on She-Ra’s shoulder, who shifts slightly under the grip. She doesn’t look entirely happy about it, nor does she look as blank as she did a moment ago. Rather, she looks puzzled, her brow furrowed like she’s trying to figure something out. “Memories, which trigger emotions, which trigger doubt. All of which must be left behind in the darkness, if one wants to come into the light.”

“I have come into the light,” She-Ra breathes, but she’s not looking up at Horde Prime, nor is she looking at Entrapta. Her gaze is on the floor, her brows joined, her expression unsure. Entrapta catches her breath, heart pounding, and tries to think of something, anything to say.

“Ah yes, the light,” she ventures with a nod. “I heard about that. And I would never do anything to take She-Ra away from it! Especially considering—”

“I know you do not mean harm, little sister,” Horde Prime says, but his eyes are suspicious as they roam over her face, and his hand is a vice on She-Ra’s shoulder. “Still, we must take precautions. I’m afraid, thanks to your little conversation, that I will have to take severe measures to preserve She-Ra for the light.”

Entrapta stares at him, uncomprehending. “What do you—”

His hand moves from She-Ra’s shoulder, so quick that it takes Entrapta a moment to process, and before she can react, before she can do anything at all, he claps a hand to the back of her head, fingers digging into her scalp, nails pressing hard enough to hurt. 

The reaction is instantaneous. She-Ra’s eyes roll back into her head, a whimpered moan escaping her throat, and then she collapses at his feet, a puddle on the floor. All eight feet of her, and in that moment, she looks like a child curled up to sleep.

Entrapta stares, heart going like a drum, blood roaring in her ears. She looks up at Horde Prime, her throat dry, and watches a cruel smile spread across his lips.

“It’s a shame,” he says, “that I had to remove so many memories. Just to make sure. But then, sometimes we must take such steps to ensure victory.”

Then he steps closer, towering over Entrapta, who, unbidden, takes a step back.

“Tell me, little sister,” he leers, his smile wide and ugly and sharp, “are you in need of your memories?”

Entrapta gulps, and gives a vigorous nod.

“Can’t—can’t have—” she stutters, swallows, and tries again. “Can’t have innovation if I don’t remember what I’m doing. Er, older brother.”

Horde Prime surveys her for a long moment, then takes a step back. “I see.” He tucks his hands behind his back and turns, then nods toward She-Ra, still collapsed upon the floor. “When she wakes up, you will monitor her vitals. You will not engage in friendly conversation. Remember, little sister—”

He pauses, both in his words and his step, but doesn’t turn around. “I have ears everywhere.”

She doesn’t nod, but he doesn’t see it. After a moment he steps forward again, sweeping out of the room with the door swinging shut behind him. Entrapta only stares, nausea building in her stomach. She looks down at She-Ra, and her gut twists.

“Experiment a failure,” she says miserably, then forces herself to amend the statement. “No—the experiment is encountering setbacks. It might require multiple trials.”

And at this point, that’s really all she can do.

——————

Glimmer hugs her.

Catra should have seen this coming, but she doesn’t, and goes still as a statue, all of her fur standing on end.

“Glimmer—” The word comes out through gritted teeth. Glimmer just shakes her head.

“Let me be happy, Catra!”

“There’s not enough reason to be happy,” Catra grumbles, but she refrains from pushing Glimmer away and instead forces herself to relax slightly against the embrace. She doesn’t return it. “Adora is still captured, or have you forgotten that?”

“But Entrapta is alive, and she can help us.” Glimmer at least releases her and takes a step back, eyes sparkling with a hope Catra is starting to get sick of. So many people have that look in their eyes, like the problem is solved, and it seems like only Catra knows that it’s just beginning. They still have a long way to go, and failure beckons at every twist of the road.

And they’re celebrating over a radio call?

“Whatever,” Catra mutters, and turns toward the door. “I have to get back to work.”

“Catra, c’mon!” Glimmer reaches forward to catch her just as she reaches the door, but Catra shakes her grip away. “You deserve to celebrate for a moment.”

“Celebrate what?” Catra hisses, spinning around to face her. She can feel her tail fluffing, her ears flattening, the anger bubbling in her chest, but can’t quite stuff it down. “One good thing isn’t enough to fix the problem, Glimmer! We still have to rescue them!”

And she can’t allow herself to feel anything but fear and determination until it happens. She can’t give herself a moment’s pause, nor a night’s peaceful sleep, because she doesn’t deserve it. Not when Adora is up in space being tortured, and Catra is safe and sound with the Rebellion.

“We will rescue them,” Glimmer says, familiar, ice cold determination flaring in her eyes. Glimmer’s hard edges have always been cold, Catra notices, where hers are hot, and flash like fire. “We aren’t giving up, Catra. But you need to rest too, sometime. You can’t run yourself into the ground.”

“I’m not running myself into the ground,” Catra snaps, but that’s not entirely true. The fact of the matter is that she hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep for over two weeks, not since she’s found out about Adora’s plight. Even before that, she hadn’t really been able to sleep without nightmares.

Dead or alive, Adora haunts her dreams. Until Catra sees her again, she knows nothing will be the end of it.

“Listen,” she says, forcing herself to sound calm, and at least somewhat reasonable. “I’m happy Entrapta is alive. I am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have work to do.” Her eyes roam over Glimmer, searching. “And you do too, don’t you? With your dad.”

She didn’t mean it as a probing question, but Glimmer’s eyes widen just a fraction. Then, abruptly, her face smooths over, and she nods. “Yeah, I do, actually. And I should get back to that.”

With that, she moves to step around Catra, brushing her by as she steps out the door and into the hallway. Catra spins around, confused, and watches her go, but doesn’t call out. Instead, she just narrows her eyes, then shakes her head.

Maybe, she thinks, it’s about time she start attending those briefings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i always forget to add this but im on tumblr if people want to talk! https://hetzi-clutch.tumblr.com/


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! a few things this time around
> 
> -this chapter contains references to Adora and Catra's childhood abuse, including a scene where an instance of abuse is shown. As soon as I post this chapter, i'm going to update the tags accordingly, but if you want to skip, it's the second scene, after the scene w She-Ra, and leads into a conversation with the best friend squad and Entrapta, starting with the line 'like now, all she wants to do is run and hide.'   
> -in addition to the tag updates, I've realized this fic has gotten a bit darker than I originally planned, so I'm going to update the tags to 'whump' and 'dark' in addition to angst. There will be loads of hurt/comfort later on, but we have to dig through a few more plot elements to get there!
> 
> and one last thing: i was feeling pretty down about this story (that ol writer's lack of confidence, you know) and i got some lovely comments telling me that you all are really enjoying the fic which legit just, made my day. so thank you guys, for reading and commenting and so on. it legit like, turned my whole mood around.

She no longer dreams, and it’s peaceful.

She knows that she had memories—feels the gap of them in her mind, like patches between clouds—but also knows that they no longer exist. She has been purged; she has been cleansed.

And should she lapse again, it will happen again and again and again.

She doesn’t know all of what Horde Prime takes. She knows that he’s merciful. He only takes what’s necessary, or what’s relevant. If she dreams about a pink haired girl and a boy with dark skin, takes that memory from her mind. If she wakes, restless, from dreams of a time in her childhood when she snuck through hallways with another, mischievous girl, he takes those too.

He takes the in-between, the irrelevant and the fanciful, and with every memory stripped away, she is forged into the clean weapon she was destined to be.

Sometimes, she doesn’t remember what prompts the removals. Sometimes, she wakes up gasping from what feels like a nightmare (though she can’t remember that, either), to that strange, purple haired woman leaning over, or better, she wakes up in her bed, aching and tired though the clock says she’s slept for hours. 

She doesn’t question any of this. It’s not her place.

The strange woman watches her closely now, but she doesn’t care. She has no memory of her, has a vague idea that they once knew each other, but has no memories to back that up and so discards that thought too. She doesn’t engage in further conversation.

Instead she trains, and she sleeps, and when the time comes, she fights.

Like right now.

“Older brother.” She approaches his chair with her head bowed in deference, and waits until he turns to face her, a smile spreading across his lips.

“Little sister.” He rises, and dips his head. “Are you ready for your mission?”

“Yes, older brother.” As expected, she sinks to her knees, prostrating himself before him. She doesn’t look up, but can feel his grin shining down upon her, fatherly and warm.

Excitement surges through her, expectation for the battle ahead, and she squeezes her hands into fists to keep them from trembling. Already, she can feel her anticipation rising.

“Good.” He steps down to her level, and waits until she raises her head to meet his eyes. “You will depart on a squad ship for Tiria. You have twenty four hours, and in that time, I expect the planet to be under our control.”

“It will be.” She nods, then, once it’s clear he has no further command, clambers to her feet and steps back. “Older brother—”

Horde Prime cocks his head, one eyebrow rising, and she stops, surprised at herself. She’s not even sure why she’s speaking out of turn, or what request or remark she has to make. What thoughts of her own does she need? She has a mission to accomplish. Light to spread across the universe.

“When will we return to Etheria?” Ah, there it is. The moment the words leave her lips is the moment she knows that’s what she wants to know. Her heart thrums with the thought of it, much as she tries to put it to rest, and she knows Horde Prime can hear.

He can hear everything, and she can read it on his face as he regards her curiously. Trying to decipher the intent behind her question, though she doesn’t know herself.

“Are you impatient, little sister?” he asks at last, and she opens her mouth, then closes it again and thinks. Is she impatient? Why? There’s nothing left for her there, anymore. She barely recalls the people she once wanted to bring to the light. They don’t matter anymore.

But she failed there. She’s not sure how, but she failed—she can feel the sensation of it deep in her bones. Etheria is a task left unfinished, a world left in the darkness, and it’s her fault.

Which is why, more than anything, she’s determined to fix it.

“Because I failed there, older brother,” she says. “I did not complete what I was meant to do. I want to go back and set it right.”

“I see.” Horde Prime nods thoughtfully, then reaches out to touch the side her her head. His fingers are cold, his nails sharp, but she doesn’t pull away. “Do not tell me you are confused, child.”

“I’m not,” she tells him firmly, rare irritation flickering in her stomach. “But I don’t want to leave a job unfinished, older brother. I want to finish what I started.”

_And prove to you what I can do_ , she finishes silently, but doesn’t say the words aloud. What’s the point? He doesn’t need to know how stupidly eager she is to show that he is worthy of his light. She will do so in actions, not words. 

“And you will, child,” Horde Prime croons, his voice nevertheless a warning. “But even so—”

His fingers press to the side of her head and she closes her eyes, wincing at the blinding flash of pain. Briefly, scenes flicker before her eyes—stranded in the woods as she begs a girl to stay, praying she will—and then they’re gone as if they never existed. Her memory smooths over, no bumps or ridges remaining.

She opens her eyes. “Thank you, older brother.”

“Be at peace, little sister.” He withdraws his hand and steps back, then beckons to the door behind her. “Go. I expect Tiria under our control. Do not fail me, child.”

“I won’t,” she says, and with a dip of her head, turns to go, fingers already curling in anticipation.

She meets the woman in the hallway, and if it weren’t for her abnormal reflexes, would have run right into her.

“My apologies, little sister,” she says coldly, and steps to the side, only to pause as a hand presses against her chest—or rather, due to the woman’s short stature, her stomach. She looks down, then looks up, rare confusion flashing across her face.

“Bodily contact is not required—” she begins, but the woman cuts her off, dragging her close.

“Listen, She-Ra!” She’s rummaging around in her pocket with furtive glances around, and if She-Ra were inclined to suspicion, alarm bells might be going off in her head. “I have a new weapon for you!”

“A new weapon?” This piques what little interest She-Ra has. She tilts her head, and doesn’t object when the woman draws out a tiny piece of metal—no bigger than a fingernail—and slaps it to the edge of her armor. It clings, sticking fast like a burr, and She-Ra looks at it in curiosity.

“What does it do?” she asks. The question seems to take the woman by surprise. She steps back, hands joining nervously together.

“It, uh, focuses your powers!” she babbles, and then nods, as if this makes sense. “Yes, it uses a redirection mechanism built into the telepathic circuitry to draw your power into a stable arc that will—”

“I understand,” She-Ra says, though she doesn’t at all. “Did Horde Prime give me permission to use this?”

But Horde Prime, she thinks dimly, wouldn’t object to something that would boost her offensive capability, would he? In fact, he would probably encourage such a thing.

Anything, after all, that could help her bring the light faster.

“Of course he did!” The woman gives a nervous laugh. “You don’t think I would do something he wouldn’t sign off on, right?”

“Uh—” In all honesty, She-Ra doesn’t know. The woman is not in the light, and therefore, unpredictable.

But it’s also not She-Ra’s place to question such things.

“Okay. Thank you,” she says, and dips her head, moving around the woman. “I am late to my ship.”

“Oh, yeah, of course!” The woman turns and gives her a jaunty wave as she goes by, which She-Ra doesn’t return. Her mind is already far away, dreaming of the victory that will surely be within her hands soon.

More people brought to the light, she thinks with a dim sense of satisfaction. What could she possibly be doing better?

—————

When Catra was twelve, she accidentally got Adora punished. This was not the first time that happened, nor was it the last. In fact, sometimes, when she was young and angry and didn’t know how to keep her pain away from her loved ones—something she’s still working on—she would do it on purpose. Take Adora’s belt because she needed one for inspection, and watch her take Shadow Weaver’s punishment, knowing that it would always, always, be much less than what Catra would receive herself.

Adora was punished in other ways, greater ways, but Catra didn’t see that until much, much later.

Adora would get Catra in trouble too, though she never did it on purpose. In fact, she didn’t have to do anything. Catra existed by Adora, and therefore she was a target for Shadow Weaver’s wrath, no matter how much she tried to keep her head down.

Sometimes Adora would try to defend her, and then it would just be the both of them under the gauntlet.

When Catra was twelve, it was an accident, but it was an accident brought about by her own hurt feelings, and not simple chance. That’s what she remembers the most, and that’s what hurts late at night, when she can’t sleep and she allows her mind to stretch back over all the wrongs she’s wrought.

They were in a training sim, all five of them, and Adora, was as usual, ahead. By this time, Catra was playing with the idea of minimal effort, not quite there, but liking the look of it all the same. Would it be better, she wondered, if she stopped trying so damn hard all the time? If nobody expected anything of her anyway, could she finally relax? Would they leave her alone?

And this is where she found herself, nearly neck and neck with Adora as they battled bots, fighting the urge to stop pretending, when she looked over, and noticed that Adora was one final blow from taking the victory for herself.

Again.

And that was when Catra gave up.

She dropped her weapon just as a bot fired, and only narrowly avoided getting hit herself. The next zap hit her squarely on the shoulder, hard enough to hurt, and the word was out before she could stop it.

“Ow!”

Adora, one second from firing the shot that would net her victory and end the simulation, turned. “Catra!”

Before Catra could react she was sprinting, weapon up, eyes wide, and then she was upon the boot, foot crumpling into cheap metal. The bot fell, Adora winced at the bruise that Catra knew would form, and behind them, an alarm blared, signaling the loss of the simulation. The lights dimmed red.

Catra stared. Then, she bristled.

“Why did you do that?” she shouted, drawing herself up to full height, tail fluffing. “Why did you come back for me?”

Adora, startled, took a step back. “You were about to lose!”

“Yeah, and now we’ve lost the whole damn thing!” Around them, the alarm continued to blare, but Catra could barely hear it past her fury. Of course, Adora would rescue her. Of course, Adora would throw out her own victory for Catra. She always had to play the hero. “Why would you do that?”

“Because—” Adora’s mouth moved soundlessly, as if she had no answer. “Because that’s what we do,” she said firmly after a long moment, and Catra had to resist the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake her. “We got each others’ backs, remember?”

No, Catra wanted to scream. No, that wasn’t how she wanted it to work. Catra didn’t need Adora’s help. Nobody needed Catra’s help, and Adora, with her ‘I’m the best’ attitude, shouldn’t have to come back to save Catra’s ass. 

But here they were. And as Catra stared, working on some retort that would somehow demolish years of a dumb promise they had made when they were kids, shadows started to fill the room.

“Adora.” Shadow Weaver’s cooing, sharp tones slid through the training room, enough to make Catra’s hair stand on end. Adora spun around, snapping to attention.

“Shadow Weaver!” she exclaimed, and though her voice was full of that dumb, fake authority she tried to wear, Catra could hear the fear coming through. “We—”

“Failed,” Shadow Weaver finished coldly, floating to a stop in front of Adora. Shadows coiled around her, dark and threatening. “You failed, specifically. Why?”

“I, uh—” Adora stuttered. “Had to help a teammate, ma’am!”

“Wrong,” Shadow Weaver said, and extended one spindly finger towards Catra. “You should not waste your time on weaklings, Adora. Not when you have a mission to fulfill.”

Catra bristled. “I am not—”

“Silence!” Shadow Weaver thundered, and Catra snapped her mouth shut. Of course she would be punished, she thought miserably, even when she did what everybody expected of her. When she fell behind, and lost like she always knew she would.

Why did everybody have to hate her?

“Catra already lags behind in many aspects,” Shadow Weaver continued, “but you, Adora. I thought you would know better.”

“I—” Adora began, but a raised finger from Shadow Weaver silenced her. 

“I’m afraid this will invoke consequences,” she sighed, and Catra braced herself for the blow. Because it wouldn’t be Adora. It was always Catra. That was just…the way of things.

She ducked her head, squeezing her eyes shut, and that was how she didn’t see the blow that connected with Adora’s head.

She heard the crack, and recognized it immediately, because it had happened to her often enough. She also couldn’t prevent the gasp from escaping her throat as her eyes flew open, her head jerking up in surprise.

Adora lay on the floor, and Catra stared, a horrible feeling in her gut. Before them, Shadow Weaver brushed lint off her shoulder.

“She will learn her lesson, I presume,” she said, then turned, only to pause. “And Catra?”

Catra swallowed hard. “Yes, Shadow Weaver?”

“Perhaps it is time you rethink your proximity to Adora,” she said. “After all, you don’t want to drag her down any further.”

And then she was gone, disappeared into her own shadows, and the lights continued to blare red around them, eerie and dim. Catra didn’t move. She only stared at Adora’s prone form, and wondered why it was that somehow, even when she didn’t take the blow, it was her fault.

It’s her fault.

That’s what she considers, late at night. Turning it over in her head, both the incidents of years past and that of no more than a couple months ago. It’s her fault.

When she was twelve, she gave up, and Adora was punished.

Two months ago, she left, and now Adora is gone.

When, Catra wonders, will she ever learn her lesson?

She’s not, in fact, sure what to take from this. When she was younger, she gave up more often than not. Decided that playing at laziness was better than trying and failing to ever be the best. It’s always easier, after all, to run away than face the music.

Now, she knows that running away is the coward’s path. The problem is, that doesn’t make staying much easier.

Like right now, for instance, when all she wants to do is run and hide.

“Are you okay, Catra?” Bow is watching her with worried eyes, and so is Glimmer, which is new. Glimmer doesn’t usually take part in repairs, since she knows exactly zero about how to get a ship running, but then again, they’re not here for repairs.

They’re here for a message, apparently, and with every passing moment in which it doesn’t come, Catra wants to claw her way out of her own skin. 

“I’m fine,” she snaps, then recalls her promise to be a better person, and sighs. “I mean, I’m fine. Really. Just impatient.”

Bow nods, but the worry doesn’t quite leave his eyes. “Yeah. Entrapta usually isn’t late with her messages. Maybe she’s—”

Caught, Catra wants to say, but doesn’t. There’s no use introducing pessimism to their little party, even though it’s her specialty, and even though it’s eating away at her like mold eats away at a leaf. 

“She’s probably just busy,” Glimmer cuts in with forced optimism. “And besides, not like we’re going to stop listening. She said it was important!”

“Yeah, she did,” Catra says, and crosses her arms, ignoring the hard pit at the center of her stomach. Important could mean anything, though. Important could mean she’s finally done something to break Horde Prime’s hold on Adora. Important could also mean Adora is spinning farther away from them than ever before.

“Catra—” It’s Glimmer who can sense the pessimism and fear hiding just beneath the surface. “I really think—”

She doesn’t get to finish. Before she can, the communication system starts beeping, loud and urgent, and Catra lunges for it.

“I thought I was gonna answer the—” Bow starts, but Catra doesn’t even bother answering him. Instead, she holds the radio to her mouth and thumbs the button.

“Entrapta?” She sounds far too urgent for her own liking, but she can’t help it. Impatience and tension have her on a tightrope a mile above the ground, and she’s teetering. “What is it?”

“Oh—hi, Catra!” Entrapta’s voice chirps over the line. She doesn’t sound upset, and Catra nearly sags with relief. Nearly. Instead, she squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath.

“Why did you want to call us?” she asks, keenly aware of Bow and Glimmer’s anxious eyes upon her. Waiting, just like she is. “We got your message.”

“Oh, yes—my message!” Entrapta’s voice drops low, into a near whisper. “I’ve managed to advance our experiment!”

Catra looks at Bow, who shakes his head, confused. Glimmer looks just as lost as he does.

“You mean the ship?” she asks. “The plan to fix the ship?”

If that’s all this ‘urgent’ call is about, she’ll—

“No, the other one!” Entrapta’s voice is so low Catra has to strain to hear. “You know—the experiment to fix the runestone and recall Adora to her normal self!”

Catra’s whole heart stops. Beside her, she can feel Bow and Glimmer stiffen. It takes her a long moment to cobble a response.

“You—have an experiment?” Her voice comes out squeaky, but she doesn’t even care. She can practically hear Entrapta’s vigorous nod over the phone. 

“Of course! It’s my primary experiment at the moment—er, besides collecting data on how to escape the ship. And the weapons modifications Horde Prime keeps forcing me to do. And the—”

“Entrapta.” Catra has to struggle to keep her voice calm. Her heart is beating fast, like a hummingbird’s. “What did you do?”

“Oh, yeah!” Entrapta snaps back to attention, sliding into the question as if she hadn’t even been off on a tangent. “Well, I’ve been developing a counteractive device for Adora’s runestone which I’ve been using to variable effect, but today I boosted the power and managed to slip it onto her person in order to hopefully develop faster results at close range!”

Catra’s claws are digging into the radio, hard enough to leave marks. She can barely move her lips. She feels numb with both hope, and the tension of wanting something very badly to go right. “Entrapta, in English.”

Entrapta sighs, heavy and familiar. “I put a _chip_ on her, to make her _less She-Ra_.”

“You can do that?” Bow asks, leaning forward to be heard. His eyes are shining with hope and excitement, a look she hasn’t seen since they’ve made contact with Entrapta. “Entrapta, please tell me this will work!”

“I don’t know if it’ll work,” Entrapta admits, and Catra’s heart sinks like a stone. Not for long, however. “But, results have been favorable! I predict that leaving it on for a longer period of time will strengthen the effect. As long as Horde Prime doesn’t—”

And then she stops, leaving the three of them hanging. They stand there, frozen and leaning in, breath caught, waiting for Entrapta to continue.

She doesn’t.

“Entrapta?” Catra asks after three seconds have passed. “Entrapta, what about Horde Prime?”

The radio only crackles and pops, no words to be heard. For several more seconds, they can only wait, tension held, unsure what to do.

Then Entrapta’s voice crackles over the radio. It’s distant and staticky, and sounds slightly urgent. “Whoops, guards over here, gotta—I’ll be back!”

Then she’s gone, the radio cutting into dead silence. The three of them stand there, speechless, and for a long time, nobody moves.

Then, Catra feels a jerk on her arm, pulling her back, and before she can respond, an arm wraps around her, then another, and she’s pulled into a tight, three-way hug.

“She’s going to save her!” Glimmer’s voice comes muffled against her and Bow’s shoulder. “Entrapta has a plan, you guys! She’s going to get her back!”

“Might get her back,” Catra corrects, but even she can feel the hope lingering in the air, budding in her own chest, and can’t quite resist its pull. 

It’s not all lost. Not yet. Maybe the one person she can’t live without hasn’t spiraled completely out of her reach.

“Don’t be a downer, Catra!” Glimmer gives her a shove on the shoulder, but she’s laughing a tear-stained, relieved laugh. “You know Entrapta! She knows what she’s doing.”

“And once we get the ship fixed, we can go get them, and have two sleeper agents on the inside,” Bow adds, and he too sounds like they’ve won, even though Catra knows they haven’t yet. “We might have a chance, guys. We might actually have a chance.”

They’re still hugging her, far longer than is comfortable, but Catra doesn’t pull away. Instead, she hesitates, torn between the fear of over-optimism and the pull of it. She’s afraid to hope, but—

But—

Maybe she can a little bit.

“You’re right,” she admits, and doesn’t pull away from the hug. Instead, awkwardly, she leans into it. “We might have a chance.”

Then the radio beeps, not the telltale beep pf outer space communication, but the special signal Bow set up for communication between members of the Rebellion. Catra frowns, straightening, but by the time she manages to extract herself from Bow and Glimmer, Bow has already reached over to snag the radio and bring it to his mouth.

“Hello?” He thumbs the button, confused. “Who’s calling?”

The radio crackles, then an urgent voice echoes over the line. Catra recognizes it immediately.

“Bow, Glimmer?” King Micah’s panicky tones come staticky and faint. “Catra? Are you there? We need you to come to the briefing room immediately.”

Bow thumbs the button, frowning. “Why? What’s wrong?”

It takes a moment for them to make out the answer. The connection is weak, and keeps fading.

“—attacked,” King Micah’s voice wavers in. “We’re calling an emergency meeting. Tiria is being attacked. It’s on the brink of destruction.”

And that, Catra thinks as her heart thuds to a halt, is why she’s never optimistic.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me divvying up angst: and adora gets the mental manipulation, and catra gets the emotional angst, and they both get the yearning, and -
> 
> Okay, so this chapter was starting to get long so i decided to split it up into tomorrow's chapter too. thank you all for reading and commenting, as always, yall literally give me life. I hope you enjoy this one, and just as a warning, though there are no extremely explicit descriptions of violence, this chapter contains descriptions of battle and blood and all that stuff. It also gets sort of....dark. Be warned.

When they file into the briefing room, the others are already there, their faces drawn and pale, their eyes reading devastation. Catra’s not sure why—or at least, she’s not sure why they should be feeling the same way as her.

To Catra, the attack on Tiria means one thing: Adora is still fighting for Prime. Still under his control, even with Entrapta’s experiment. They haven’t failed yet—she can’t let herself think that—but her earlier moment of optimism now seems stupid and fleeting.

Of course the world would have it in for her, even though she’s been good. Of course she couldn’t have a moment, even a second, of hope. Of course they would be still impossibly far away.

It almost seems hopeless, but she can’t even let herself think that, because to do so is to break completely.

“Alright.” King Micah nods at their entrance, then turns to the display behind him. “I believe we can start.”

“Is it true?” Netossa calls from somewhere near the back of the room, and there’s a rustle of grumbling concern around her. “Has Tiria been attacked?”

King Micah turns, his face solemn, and nods. “I’m afraid so, Netossa. We just got word.”

“Who was it?” Catra doesn’t waste time dancing around the subject. She’s barely in the room, standing near the door with her arms crossed, but she doesn’t react when every eye in the room turns to her. She doesn’t care.

Anger is growing slowly in the pit of her stomach—useless, directionless. She wants to hit something. She wants to blow something up.

She can’t do either, so she crosses her arms and let her nails dig into her flesh.

King Micah turns to look at her, and takes a long moment to answer. “We can’t be sure, Catra. But preliminary reports suggest that the attacker is She-Ra.”

Immediately, the uneasy grumble turns into a nervous uproar. People talk, shifting and muttering and glancing this way and that, and Catra ignores them all, though her sensitive ears catch snatches all the same.

“This can’t be—”

“This means—”

“She’s getting close—”

The last one perks her ears up, but she ignores that too, because she’s still watching King Micah.

“That means no parts, doesn’t it?” she asks, and King Micah grimaces, reaching up to pinch his nose. 

“I’m afraid it does,” he admits, and beside Catra, Bow lets out a heavy rush of air, like he’s just been punched in the stomach. Catra doesn’t look at him.

“And it means Adora is still under Horde Prime’s control,” she states flatly, and watches King Micah’s eyebrows rise in surprise, as if the answer is obvious.

He doesn’t get to answer, however, because Glimmer does first. A firm hand touches Catra’s shoulder, warm and not at all comforting, and Glimmer’s quiet voice sounds in her ear.

“The battle on Tiria isn’t over, Catra,” she says. “We don’t know anything yet.”

“Sure,” she says, and swipes Glimmer’s hand away, realizing only too late that she hasn’t retracted her claws. Glimmer’s hiss of pain is enough to draw a wince from Catra, but she’s too angry to apologize, even though she knows she should.

Forget apologies. She can barely think straight for the pure, animalistic _rage_ swirling in her gut.

“Glimmer is right,” King Micah says, a frown crinkling his forehead as he watches the exchange. His eyes go to what Catra is sure must by the small scratches now dotting Glimmer’s hand, but he doesn’t point them out. “The battle isn’t over. We don’t know the damage reports.”

“But this means—” somebody at the back calls, only to be quickly silenced by a hissed voice. Catra’s ears turn, but familiar suspicion flaring in her gut, but she makes no other outward sign that she heard.

Can’t give herself away, she thinks wildly. She’s angry, too angry to think, except she’s starting to wonder if there’s things she doesn’t know that she should, and the fear of it is enough to snap.

She’s not used to being out of the know. The thought of it terrifies her, and because it terrifies her, it makes her even angrier.

But she can’t blow up here, or she’ll lose the entire room’s trust in an instant.

Stay or go. The thought spins around her head in dizzying circles, heightened by the roar of the blood in her ears and the pounding of her heart. Stay and keep calm, or go find a mattress to tear up. Try not to think about Adora, either way.

Try not to think—

“I have to go,” she manages, her voice barely above a hiss, and turns on her heel, pushing past both Bow and Glimmer to get to the door.

She shoves it open and practically falls out into the hallway, kicks backward to close the door behind her, and waits, breathing heavy, for the slam of it.

It doesn’t slam. Instead, somebody catches it. 

“Catra,” Glimmer calls, her voice firm but also entirely understanding, and Catra hates it, she _hates_ it. Can’t they be enemies? Can’t they be at odds so she’ll be justified in working out her anger, in making other people hurt so that she doesn’t feel her own?

The one good thing about making the world your enemy, Catra thinks bitterly, is that you never run out of targets.

“Go away, Glimmer,” she says, and knows that she’s not going to listen. True to form, she doesn’t.

“No.” Glimmer steps fully into the hallway, closing the door softly behind her. Her eyes, when Catra turns, are watching her like she’s waiting, not for an explosion, but for an outburst. Like she knows what’s coming and is ready to handle it.

Like a friend.

“I know you’re upset,” she continues, and Catra laughs.

“Upset?” she barks, and laughs harder, so hard she has to double over, clutching her stomach. “You really think I’m upset and that’s it? You think that’s all I’m feeling? A little setback, and we should be fine with a sprinkle of optimism? A few motivating words, and I’ll be back on my feet?”

Glimmer’s face hardens at this, and she steps closer. “No, that’s not what I said. I never said you had to be fine, Catra. None of us are fine. Sue me for trying to be optimistic.”

“Optimism is worthless,” Catra hisses, and she really is teetering on the ledge, one wrong word away from plunging to the depths. “That’s all you have. Optimism, and nice words, and meanwhile Adora is—Adora is—”

She turns and slashes her claws across the opposite wall, deep into the metal, which shrieks like a banshee. It’s not even enough. A second later, she’s still seething, and it’s all she can take to close her eyes and draw in a shaky breath.

Beside her, Glimmer lets out a soft laugh. “Good work on the wall, I guess. You really have a lot of pent up rage, don’t you?”

Catra draws in another breath before speaking. “I’m working on it.”

“Want to work it out?”

“What?” This forces her eyes open. She looks over at Glimmer, confused, only to be met by the kind of smile even Catra would classify as dangerous.

“You, me.” Her finger moves back between them. “The sparring room. Five minutes.”

She hesitates, then adds, “and you have to talk. That’s the deal.”

Catra stares at her, speechless. She’s not even sure this is a good idea—in fact, she’s pretty sure it would take her less time to beat Glimmer than in the time it would take to get to the sparring room. Not to mention, she doesn’t want to talk about her feelings.

But she _really_ wants to hit something.

It takes her a moment to find her voice, but when she does, she nods. “Deal.”

—————

The people of Tiria are easily beaten.

She doesn’t immediately hit the planet’s surface. Instead, she starts high above, caught between the stars and the satellites and the blinking, rudimentary shuttles that make up Tiria’s fledgling interplanetary transport, and makes short work of them all, moving in such a dizzying blur of ethereal motion that in most cases, she’s gone before they even have time to shoot back.

When they do start shooting back, it doesn’t even matter, because they’re too crippled to leave much of an impact. 

By the time she’s finished, the space above the planet is rent in destruction. Ships and satellites spiral limply through space, trailing debris she knows will eventually drop into the atmosphere. It’s silent, and eerily so. There is nobody left to scream, and in the vacuum, she knows they won’t be heard anyway.

Only She-Ra, not quite man and not quite god, manages to stand above it.

When she’s finished, she returns quickly to her ship, and starts the controlled plummet to the planet’s surface. Here, she knows, the real grit of battle will began. Whereas combat in space is ice cold, on the ground, it’s white hot. It’s noisy, and fierce, and sets her blood boiling in a way she can’t describe.

She’s not sure she likes it, but she’s not sure she doesn’t either.

By the time she lands, the planetary defenses are just barely starting to gather, and this is all to her advantage. She doesn’t need to wait, nor lie in ambush. She isn’t even meant to stay there long. Her job isn’t to hold the beachhead for any extended time, but to capture it and lay ruin so that nothing can recover. Hit hard, hit fast, leave them in pieces, and depart so that the main invasion forces can move in, conversion machines at the ready.

She isn’t the one who brings the light. She just heralds it.

When she steps out of her ship, there’s an army waiting for her. Hundreds upon thousands of foot soldiers, tanks and planes and a billion weapons pointed in her face, and she wants to laugh.

Would it be easier, a part of her wonders, if they would just surrender? It might be easier for them. It would surely be a disappointment for her. After all, there’s no way to prove her worth if she has no target upon which to prove it.

Only through blood and fire, Horde Prime once told her, the light shall baptize. She knows what that means.

Peace would be deceptive, a trick. The only way to make sure that the light shall truly reign is to force it by a strong hand.

And that’s exactly what she’s here for.

She climbs easily out of her ship, which is a small, single person cruiser, and straightens, towering high above these people. The closest are several hundred meters off, trembling with laser rifles in their hands, but she can tell even from the distance that they’re afraid. She can sense it.

She’s not sure they’re supposed to be afraid, if she’s being honest—something about it rubs her the wrong way—but she doesn’t question it. Besides, it will only be a matter of time before they’re brought to the light, and then they’ll never have to fear anything at all.

As she stands in front of her ship, her sword still undrawn, her hands loosely curled, somebody steps out from the swarming mass of soldiers. They’re small at a distance, with long hair tied back in a bun, and they hold a small, laser pistol tightly in one hand.

They wear the uniform of a general, and She-Ra knows that they must be the negotiator.

There’s always a negotiator. A general, or a politician, or even a simple soldier—somebody who stumbles to the forefront and begs or bargains for mercy. Sometimes they offer land. Sometimes they offer people. Sometimes they offer themselves for the whole, and sometimes they wear a stupid, hopeful smile, as if She-Ra might accept their terms. 

They will never understand that she won’t, because there’s nothing she could possibly want more than the liberation of the universe under Horde Prime’s light.

Beyond that, anything else is inconsequential.

“She-Ra.” The person’s voice is high and clear, sharp enough to fling across the battlefield. “We beseech your mercy. We’ve gathered here in force today, but we don’t want to fight. We have no conflict with you.”

She-Ra cocks her head, and regards the distant figure for a long moment. When she opens her mouth to speak, she sends her voice high across the battlefield.

“Do you accept the mercy of Horde Prime’s light?”

Even at this distance, she can see the figure step back, shake their head. “We can’t do that. We have no conflict with Horde Prime, and we don’t wish to fight, but we cannot submit to his rule.”

She-Ra doesn’t immediately answer. She studies the figure for several seconds, pondering. Dissecting the words, even though she’s heard it all before.

There’s a humming in her ear, and she can’t quite shake it.

“If you do not submit to Horde Prime—” her voice carries across the battlefield— “then you sacrifice yourself to his light.”

Then, in one fluid motion, before the distant figure can respond, she draws her sword.

And attacks.

They’ve gathered in full strength, but their strength is laughable. She’s upon them in a second, and it takes one blast of energy to send the first row of soldiers flying back into the second, into the third, collapsing them like dominoes, and by the time half of them have struggled to her feet, she’s already fighting.

She moves through them like sand through an hourglass. It’s a dance, graceful and frenzied all at once, the world a cacophony of screams and cries and gunfire, and she at the center of it all, the universe spinning around her in fluid, centrifugal motion, cutting her way to the heart of the army, to the center of the planet, to the endpoint of victory.

She doesn’t know how many people fall to her sword in the first minutes. More, probably, than she can count, and so she doesn’t bother. Blood and dirt flies like rain, soaking her white uniform, splattering her boots, filling the world with the taste of iron, and in those minutes, as she works her way through an entire army with nothing more than magic and knuckles and her sword, she feels like she’s exactly where she needs to be.

She is, in those moments, wholly in the light.

This army, to its credit, doesn’t flee. They stand their ground, and with cries and yells and grunts they rush at her with guns and bombs and all the weaponry they can muster, and because she’s polite, she doesn’t laugh. She just cuts through each and every one with methodical thoroughness, like a surgeon with a scalpel, so fastidious as to ensure not a single life stays behind.

Some run, but she doesn’t pursue them, because some, after all, need to stay behind to enter the light.

It takes hours of her time. Hours, and as she works—because that’s what it slides into, after the first initial rush, hard, bloody, sometimes uncomfortable work—the world around her takes on a background presence, falling away until nothing but the feel of her sword and the dirt beneath her boots lingers.

That and the hum in her ear, louder than before, and insistent enough to throw her concentration off more than once.

“Damn it,” she hisses to herself in a rare show of emotion as another solder parries her sword with his bayoneted rifle, then takes the chance to run. She watches him go, then spins around just in time to catch the sight of a tank leveling its gun at her, the shell wide enough to chop her in half, if she weren’t made of magic.

“Damn it!” She dives to the ground, grits her teeth as the gun booms and the earth around her shakes, then scrambles to her feet and readies her sword. The tank is spinning slowly to re-aim, now that she’s ducked out of the way, but she charges it first, cutting off the gunshaft with one strong swipe of her sword and bounding up the armored shell to tear open the round entrance.

Below her, in the dark of the tank, somebody screams in fright, but she ignores it. She doesn’t bother to dive in, either, but ducks briefly inside and gropes around until she hits upon the exact thing she was looking to find.

Tirian, standard issue grenade. Basic weapon identification and training 101.

“Please, don’t—!” somebody cries, but she’s already pulling the detonator and shoving the grenade into the entrance, slamming the door shut and then skipping to the ground, her feet hitting just as a muffled explosion sounds from within the tank walls.

“Annoying,” she mutters, then winces and reaches a bloodied finger to her ear—though why, she doesn’t know. There’s nothing in her ears except for a strange hum, the origin unknown, but it’s growing louder and louder with each passing moment, and she’d be lying to say it weren’t throwing off her concentration.

But she has a job to do. So, with a shake of her head, she stands and turns, surveying the battle field around her. There’s scarce little to be seen upon it. In the distance, soldiers are scrambling away, and closer by, blood and bodies stain the floor, half cover in dirt and debris and all the mess that comes with battle. Beside the tank she’s just demolished, there’s another, equally demolished tank.

Or maybe not equally demolished. Because as she watches, with a slow, clanking groan, the turret starts to twist in her direction.

“Oh—” Her eyes widen, and she goes for her sword, ready to perform the exact same move she’d performed on the first tank, but she never makes it. The moment her fingers wrap around the hilt, the hum in her ears twists and shrieks, and without thinking, she doubles over.

“Ow—!” Pain, blinding. Her head, bursting into stars of agony. Except that’s not supposed to happen, because she’s She-Ra, somewhere between man and god, and though she’s bloody and tired and running on the dregs of adrenaline, such a small thing can’t hurt her like this.

Except it is. And as she claps her hands over her ears, the humming only grows, louder and louder until it’s blocking out the battlefield, blocking out her own ragged breaths, blocking out her very thoughts and the light—

The light—

The light winks out, and Adora takes a deep, shuddering breath, then falls to her knees.

Breathing. That’s all she does for several seconds, just in and out, heart pounding, limbs aching, head thudding like she’s been clobbered, and she doesn’t know where she is. She stares at a twisted bullet case on the ground, spattered with blood, and doesn’t understand why she’s looking at such a thing. Where is she?

The world is dead still, silent except for the distant clank of what must be a machine, and she’s alone.

Adora takes in another shuddering breath, then another, gulping like she’s been drowning, and tries not to panic.

_I need to think_ , she tells herself, because this is probably just a dream, or she’s lost in the Whispering Woods, or something happened to her and her friends will figure it out, but first she needs to think, she needs to _remember_.

Her mind is patchy as a spring sky, her thoughts roiling in no sense at all, pulling her in ten different directions, and Adora closes her eyes, tries to think of her friends, but no faces come to her mind at all.

“I—” Panic wins. Shakily, frantically, she clambers to her feet, doesn’t even notice her sword clattering to the ground, and spins in a slow circle, eyes round and horrified. There are bodies on the ground, and the twisted remains of war, but she doesn’t remember a war, all she remembers is—

_Come to the light, child._

With a strangled sob, Adora clamps both hands over her ears and squeezes her eyes shut.

She doesn’t remember this. She doesn’t remember much at all, but she thinks she’s done something wrong, something very bad, and she can’t recall what it is. It might be disobeying orders. It might be putting others, stupidly, in danger. It might—

She opens her eyes, and stares at the slacken face of a dead soldier, his mouth open and his eyes gazing sightlessly at the sky.

_Something very bad._

“Glimmer.” Her voice is hoarse and raspy, like she’s barely used it, or maybe screamed too much and lost it all at once. “Bow? C-Catra—”

Names. She’s found names. She can’t put faces to them—why can’t she put faces to them?—but she finds their names and she clings to them with greedy fingers, desperation clawing through her chest.

“Glimmer!” Her voice echoes across the battlefield, half a scream, half a sob. “Bow, I—where is everybody? I don’t—I don’t—”

“Hey, kid!” A voice has her swinging around, half a yell caught in her throat, but at her response, the soldier—hanging out of a tank, the gun pointed right at her—raises his arms. “Whoa, it’s okay!”

“It—is?” she hates the way her voice sounds, all small and shaky like a child’s. She feels like a child too, lost and terrified, like all she wants is her mother but she doesn’t think she’s ever had one.

“Yeah.” The man heaves himself out of the tank and clambers quickly down the side, then steps carefully over an unexploded shell, his hands still raised as if to prove he’s not a threat. “What the hell are you doing here? Don’t you know there’s a war going on?”

“I—” she’s crying, she realizes, her voice in hiccups, and she wants to tell him that she does know about the war, remembers it somehow deep in her head, but she doesn’t know how. “I didn’t—I didn’t—”

“Whoa, it’s okay.” He’s got a beard and a fatherly expression, and it’s enough to calm her down to the point that she can suck in another shaky breath.

Her chest hurts, and she doesn’t know why.

“W-what are you fighting?” she asks as he comes up and, without asking, lays a gentle hand on her shoulder, steering her into a sitting position. “Why—is this Etheria? It doesn’t look like—”

“Etheria?” The man’s brow crinkles in confusion. “Kid, you’re on the other side of the sun. This is Tiria.”

“Tiria?” She’s never heard the word before. No—she has heard the word, and she has a job to do there, something very big, and if she doesn’t do it right she’ll—she’ll—

She has a destiny to fulfill, he told her, but she doesn’t know who _he_ is. 

“Yeah, Tiria.” The man’s eyes roam worriedly over her face, her ragged red jacket and bloodstained fingers. “We’re fighting a battle, which is why you shouldn’t be here.” He reaches out to brush a piece of dirt off her jacket. “Nobody should be here.”

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she tells him honestly, and laces her hands together because they’re still trembling. The blood on her knuckles is starting to dry, and she doesn’t know whose it is, and it’s scaring her more than she wants to admit.

The man chuckles. “Yeah, neither do I.” He’s still eying her, a frown lining his brow, as if he’s trying to place her face. She wishes she could tell him that she’s trying to do the same exact thing inside her own head. “But—hey, what’s that?”

“What’s what?” she looks down at herself, and flinches at the sight of blood, so much more than she’s ever seen, like she’s bathed in it, and something tells her it’s not her own but she can’t imagine what that might mean.

But the man frowns and leans forward. “That.”

“Wha—” She glances down, and this time she sees it. A small metal chip pressed to her shirt just under the collar, scuffed but still holding on, and she stares at it, puzzled. “Oh. I don’t know.”

“Huh. Might be a piece of shrapnel. Here—” The man leans forward, fingers out as if to touch, and it takes Adora a second to register what he’s doing, and it’s a second too long.

“No—wait—” She doesn’t want him to take it off. She doesn’t know why, but her gut is churning and fear is choking her throat and he can’t— “Don’t!”

But it’s too late. The man’s fingers brush the chip, then pull away at her words, but that’s enough. The chip loosens, then falls, bouncing to a stop in the dirt.

For a moment, nothing happens. 

Then, the world around Adora bursts into white flame, and she buries her face in her hands with a scream, but it does nothing to stop the advance of the light.

“Oh my _god_ —” The man gasps and falls back, scrambling away, but it’s too late. She-Ra stands, all eight feet of her towering above him, and with a shake of her head, she snaps back to reality.

“Odd,” she mutters, and it is odd. There’s no more hum, and the light has returned, blissful and free, but it sits oddly now, like a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong spot. She moves, and it doesn’t quite feel right.

Something is wrong, she thinks. Something about this is not right.

Then she shakes her head, pushing away the thought like one might bat away a fly, and looks down at the man.

“I still have a job to do,” she says softly, and the man shakes his head, his mouth moving silently in terror. “You will be brought into the light.”

“No—” the man swings his head frantically back and forth. “No, please—”

But She-Ra only smiles, and stoops to his level. She doesn’t have her sword—it’s somewhere on the ground—but that doesn’t matter.

Sometimes, one needs to get their hands dirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, I'm like the worst person ever and I'm sorry, but i SWEAR this angst has plot related purpose. It's not just for the hell of it (but I admit I did enjoy writing it lbr). 
> 
> Next chapter will be up as per usual sometime tomorrow, and then we'll get to the sparring and the aftermath and yaknow, all that good stuff. anyway, thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, I'm back! now, the plot is finally sort of catching up and so on, so I'm pretty excited about these next chapters. and as always, thank you so much for all your kind comments, they really make my day.

It’s not fair, Catra thinks as she enters the sparring room, that Glimmer has the power of teleportation. She’s already waiting for Catra as she steps through the door, outfitted in workout gear she probably teleported to her room to get.

“You gonna use your teleportation when we fight?” Catra calls as she closes the door behind her. In response, Glimmer just smiles.

“You going to use your claws?”

“Only if you’re annoying,” Catra grumbles, but she swipes her hair back from her head—it’s been getting longer, annoyingly so—and crouches into a fighting stance, fists up.

“Alright, sparkles,” she snarls, hackles raising in anticipation. “Are we going to start or—hey!”

Glimmer doesn’t give an answer, because she’s already gone. Catra yelps, and spins around—any idiot would know to go for the back—but she’s just a second too slow for the ball of energy that comes arcing at her head.

“Cheating!” she huffs as she dodges, and Glimmer only laughs, her voice hard.

“Like you ever pulled punches!” she calls, and Catra isn’t sure if she’s trying to get her goat on purpose, but it definitely works. With a snarl, she whips around, ears tuned and nostrils flared for the scent of sorcery.

It doesn’t take long. She feels the fuzz of magic off to her right, spins around, and pounces just as Glimmer flashes into existence. Glimmer yelps in alarm, and tries to disappear, but it’s too late; with a thud, Catra rams her right into the wall.

“Ugh,” Glimmer groans, shrugging her shoulders under Catra’s grip. “You still don’t pull punches.”

“You’ve never been very good at that either,” Catra growls, and this time, Glimmer just smiles. Taunting.

“You going to talk now?” she asks, and for a moment, Catra stares, taken aback. Then, her face hardens.

“No,” she answers. Glimmer opens her mouth, then shuts it again, then frowns. 

“Fine,” she says, and in a flitz of magic, she’s gone.

“Damn it!” Catra whirls around, claws out though they probably shouldn’t be, and scans the room. Nobody. Probably, Glimmer has teleported to the hallway, and she’s dragging it out just to make an entrance.

“Miss me?” 

Catra spins around, and just has time to dive under an array of energy balls. Glimmer doesn’t disappear again this time, but holds her ground as Catra tucks and rolls, advancing under her own fire.

“I—hate—magic,” Catra grunts, then, with another roll, reaches out and snags Glimmer’s foot. With a squeak, her magic falters, and Glimmer goes flying.

“Unfair!” she calls as she hits the ground, but Catra just laughs.

“Yeah, and what do you call tele—OW!” She cuts off as an energy ball skids over her am, raising a sharp welt. “Damn, you didn’t need to shoot so powerfully!”

“Are you calling me powerful?” Glimmer smirks, clambering to her feet with her hands raised to shoot again. In response, Catra just growls.

“You wish,” she says, and then, before Glimmer can respond, launches herself right at her.

And then it’s a dance. Back and forth and around the room, Glimmer in and out and Catra on her toes, dodging and lunging and occasionally raining blows, and it goes so long and with such concentration that it takes Catra a while to remember her deal.

“Talk!” Glimmer shouts as she shoots yet another blast of energy at Catra, and she only shakes her head. 

“I don’t want to,” she calls, and launches into a series of blows dizzying enough to distract. “Why the hell should I have to talk? Why don’t you?”

“Because I’m—not—the—one—angry!” Each word is punctuated by a disappearance, and when Glimmer finally reappears one last time, she’s right up in Catra’s face. Catra reels back, but this time Glimmer grabs her by the collar and drags her bodily to the wall.

“Talk!” she shouts, and damn it, Catra doesn’t remember Glimmer being this strong.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she forces out through gritted teeth, only for Glimmer’s hand to raise, energy sparking off her palm. Catra raises an eyebrow.

“Are you really gonna hit me like this?”

“Says the one who’s had her claws out the entire time,” Glimmer says, and twists her hand around to reveal several long, red scratches on her forearm.

Catra winces. “Sorry,” she mutters, and wonders if she should bother explaining that she had simply forgotten. Probably, it won’t make a difference. 

Glimmer softens, and her arm lowers. “It’s okay,” she says, but she doesn’t loosen her grip on Catra’s collar. “But you should talk, you know. It’s healthy.”

“Oh, healthy?” Catra scoffs. “Is that it? Three square meals a day, eight cups of water, and therapy? Do your daily exercises and talk about your feelings? Forget about it.” Claws carefully retracted, she shoves Glimmer’s hand from her collar, then slips out from her grip. “We’re done here.”

With that, she turns to the door, anger still coiling in her belly, nails still digging into her palms, and doesn’t look behind.

Which is how she doesn’t see the ball of energy until it goes sailing past her head.

“Hey!” Catra jerks around, only to catch Glimmer’s hardened glare of determination.

“First of all, this is a horrible coping mechanism, and definitely not therapy,” Glimmer says, but she’s already raising her arm for another hit. “Second of all, we made a deal, Catra. Keep it.”

Catra growls, only to flinch as another energy ball narrowly misses her shoulder.

“Oh, that’s how you want to play?” she snarls, rage curling in her gut, and before Glimmer can throw another energy ball, she pounces.

And once more, they’re back in the fray, but this time, it’s not a dance. It’s a brawl, fast and violent, and Catra doesn’t retract her claws, but neither does Glimmer hold back an inch. They fly around the room, blows and fists and the occasional droplets of blood flying, and as they fight, Glimmer taunts.

“Talk,” she says and Catra shakes her head, only to wince as a ball of energy scrapes her shoulder. “Is that really how it’s going to be? Bottle up your feelings because you’re too scared to talk about them?”

“I’m not scared,” Catra hisses with a swipe of her claws, but Glimmer just dances back and shakes her head. 

“Prove it,” she says, and flashes away, reappearing at Catra’s back.

“I don’t have to!” Catra spins around and goes for her neck, all caution forgotten, but too quickly Glimmer is gone again, and she’s crashing to the floor.

“You do to your friends!” Glimmer shouts from across the room, and Catra, leaping to her feet, snarls and lunges.

“You’re—not—my—friends!” She shouts, each word punctuated with a blow that Glimmer narrowly dodges. “You’re just people who took pity on me! You don’t care about me! You don’t even care about Adora! All you care about is your precious planets getting blown up!”

Glimmer reappears and stops, two meters away from Catra. She doesn’t move. Something in her face has dropped away cleanly.

“We care about Adora,” she says, her voice faltering as if it might crack. “Do you really think we don’t care?”

Catra, claws out, pauses as well and slowly lowers her hands. “You don’t care as much as me,” she says blankly, like it’s obvious. “You can’t. All anybody talks about is She-Ra. Nobody even mentions her name.”

Her voice is cracking freely now, and she can’t stop it. Her fists are at her sides, completely defenseless. Not that it matters. Glimmer is just staring at her.

“Catra—” Her voice is shaking slightly. “She-Ra is killing entire planets. We don’t—we’re not even sure Adora is still in there.”

She says it like she’s sad, like she’s haunted by the very idea, like it’s eating away at her soul. Catra doesn’t care. She barely registers the tone. The words hit first, and sink fast, burning a hole in her stomach.

“How can you say that?” she asks dumbly, and when Glimmer doesn’t respond, lunges for her, pinning her against the wall. Too hard, maybe, but anger is billowing up in her, crowding out any rational thought. “How can you _say that?!”_

“I’m not!” Glimmer says, but there are tears on her face, and it’s enough to tell Catra that she might believe it anyway. “But it’s what everybody thinks, Catra! I’ve been trying to argue in the briefings, but everybody thinks—everybody’s talking about—”

She stops, lips pressing flat together as if she shouldn’t say whatever she was about to say. Catra stares, chest slowly turning hollow.

“What do they say?” Her voice is dangerously low. “What are they talking about?”

Glimmer shakes her head. “I shouldn’t tell you. I shouldn’t even be talking about it.”

She wants to scream. She wants to shake her and demand an answer, to cry and rage and cut the entire room to pieces until she gets one.

But she can’t work that way anymore. So she breathes in a shaky breath, takes note of the rage clogging her throat, and works around it.

“Tell me,” she says, and it’s not a plea, but a demand.

For a moment, Glimmer doesn’t answer. Then she sighs, all the air rushing out of her, and runs an exhausted hand over her face.

“There’s a pattern to the planets being attacked by She-Ra,” she admits. “Each one is closer to Etheria than the last. My dad—and everybody else—suspects—”

She doesn’t have to say it. Catra already understands, and her blood is running cold.

“They think she’s coming for Etheria,” she whispers, and Glimmer nods.

“If she tries to attack Etheria, she’ll have the advantage of the entire planet,” she says grimly. Her eyes are far away, as if living out the horrible possibility in her head. “She-Ra is basically entwined with the magic of Etheria. It’ll respond to her. And if it does—”

“We have no chance,” Catra finishes quietly, and Glimmer hesitates, then nods.

“Yeah,” she says, and looks down, biting her lip. Catra doesn’t watch her. She’s staring at the wall, her thoughts eons away, caught in a whirlwind of terrible realization.

Adora is coming back for them. Which means the entire Rebellion is going to try to kill her.

Unless she kills them all first.

————

When She-Ra returns to the mothership, the woman meets her at the door. 

“Ad—She-Ra!” Her face, for reasons She-Ra can’t decipher, falls. Her hands, which had been wide open in welcome, drop to her side, and she takes a hesitant step closer. Her eyes roam over She-Ra’s breastplate, then move to her face.

“How was the battle?” she asks tentatively, which is also strange. The woman doesn’t discuss her campaigns, has never, in fact, show a tad bit of interest in them before. But then, this is not the first unusual thing to happen today.

There’s something sitting wrong in She-Ra’s head, and she can’t put a name to it. It followed her off of Tiria and into her ship, then all the way back to the mothership.

It’s lingering now, an uncertain, pressing feeling, and she wants to shake it away, but doesn’t know how.

“The campaign was successful,” she says shortly, and moves to sidestep the woman. “However, I must report to Horde Prime.”

“I—wait!” A hand grabs her arm, and She-Ra stops in surprise. This is not the first time the woman has touched her, she recalls dimly, and there’s something urgent about it she can’t place.

She also doesn’t like it. 

Coldly, she turns to the woman, who under her fierce gaze, takes a step back.

“What do you require, little sister?” Her voice is soft, a warning.

“Nothing,” the woman squeaks, then seems to rethink that and straightens. “Er, actually, I wanted to know something.”

“Know what?” She-Ra frowns, impatient. Horde Prime is waiting to hear of her victory, she’s sure. He won’t be happy to wait much longer. 

“Do you…remember anything?” the woman ventures, then quickly clarifies. “About the battle! Or, campaign. Whatever it’s called. Anything interesting happen?”

“Nothing interesting happened,” She-Ra responds curtly, and turns to go, only for the woman to snag her arm again.

“Wait—are you sure?” she cries, and this time, with an actual huff of impatience, She-Ra spins to face her.

“Yes,” she growls, and knows that she shouldn’t be getting angry, but can’t help it. She’s tired, and sore, and there’s blood on her hands she’d rather wash off, and something is nagging irritatingly at the back of her head. “There was nothing interesti—”

And then she stops, as something does come back to her. Something odd, near the end of the battle. A waver, like she hadn’t been all there.

A fatherly man, flicking something off her jacket.

She isn’t wearing a jacket. She glances down, just to confirm, and the woman takes the chance to pull her closer.

“Okay, so I was hoping the long range of Horde Prime’s telepathic connection would be weakened when you went to Tiria!” she whispers excitedly, her grip strong enough to drag She-Ra down into a stoop. “That’s why I took the chance to try disrupting the connection, only I think—”

“Get off me!” She-Ra growls, and shakes the woman away, sending her tumbling against the wall. She straightens, and shakes her head, because now something anxious is eating at her mind, the thought that maybe she’s done something wrong, that she’s failed—

Then something of the woman’s words, for whatever reason, breaks through her concentration. 

“What telepathic connection?” she asks, confused. One hand, as if of its own accord, comes to her head, massaging at the temple. That feeling is growing stronger now, morphing into a fullblown headache. “Horde Prime does not need to communicate with me during a campaign. He trusts me to carry out his orders.”

The woman heaves an exaggerated sigh, as if this were the obvious thing in the world. “Not like that!” She straightens, and scurries forward, then reaches up on her tiptoes to touch the runestone at She-Ra’s chest.

“Horde Prime has established a telepathic connection through your runestone.” Her eyes, as she caresses the runestone, sparkle with awe. She looks, for a moment, lost in a world of her own, before she jerks back to reality and draws her hand away.

“He uses the telepathic connection to incapacitate your mental state,” she explains in a decidedly patronizing tone. Like spelling things out to a five year old. “That’s how he controls you, Ad—She-Ra! Why do you think you’ve been fighting all those people?”

“What?” She-Ra balks, drawing back and shaking her head. “You are mistaken, little sister. Horde Prime doesn’t control me. He has only shown me the way. I fight for him of my own free will.”

Because the light draws her. The light centers her, reminds her that she has a destiny to fulfill, and the easiest way to do it is to listen to—

“Oh. Okay.” The woman has one eyebrow raised. “Is that why you do everything he says?”

“I follow Horde Prime’s orders because he knows what is best,” She-Ra replies stiffly. “And once I prove my worth, he will grant me my wish to return to Etheria and unite the planet under his light.”

At this, for no reason She-Ra can understand, the woman pales. She swallows hard, then nods.

“Sounds great!” she says in a voice that suggests anything but. “But that still doesn’t account for his telepathic hold on your mind. Which I’m telling you, I’ve scientifically verified.”

She-Ra has no idea what it means to scientifically verify something, but the very insinuation in the woman’s voice irritates her.

“Little sister, are you implying that Horde Prime doesn’t trust me?” she asks coldly, and the woman gives a huge grin.

“Of course I am!” she says, and reaches out once more to tap She-Ra’s cracked runestone. “I’m telling you, She-Ra! If he didn’t have this, you’d be the one in charge!”

She-Ra’s eyes widen, and she takes a stumbling step back, pushing the woman’s hand away from her chest.

“You talk treason, little sister,” she hisses. “You would be wise to hold your tongue. I could report you to Horde Prime for such things.”

“Oh, sorry!” The woman holds up her hands, but she doesn’t seem at all apologetic. “Just pointing out facts! Well, not facts. It’s more of a hypothesis, really, which—”

“Enough.” She-Ra straightens, then pushes past the woman. “I am late for my debriefing. You should be careful, little sister. Your lack of connection to the light isn’t an excuse for ignorance.”

The woman makes a noise of offense at the word ‘ignorance’, but She-Ra already isn’t listening. Instead, she stalks down the hallway, anger curling her fists, and tries not to let the woman’s words get to her. 

Horde Prime doesn’t control her. He is simply her guide to the light, the one who showed her the true way. She serves him willingly, and soon, once she proves her worth, he will reward her with the very thing she wants.

Soon, all of Etheria will know the light.

Horde Prime leans forward eagerly in his chair as she enters the command room, and as she approaches, she kneels.

She always kneels. She does it on instinct, without thought or question. Now, however, much as she tries to push them away, the woman’s words haunt her. Is she kneeling to him, or the light? Does it matter anyway? What difference is there?

Something nags at her mind, a question not quite formed, and she can’t quite put it to bed.

“Horde Prime.” She dips her head, and he dips his in return, but makes no move to rise. 

“Tell me, little sister.” When she looks up, there is a smile across his face, as if he already knows the answer. “How was the campaign?”

“Successful, older brother.” She doesn’t rise to her feet. “Tiria is demolished, and ready to be brought to the light.”

“Excellent.” His grin spreads wider across his face. “Just as I expected. I am proud of you, little sister.”

“Thank you, older brother.” Warmth fills her chest at the praise, and in this moment, she decides, the woman’s words are worthless. What does she know? She’s not even within the light. She’s clueless.

But still, a question nags at her, and she can’t push it away.

“Is there anything else to report?” Horde Prime is watching her intently. “Disruptions? Unexpected events?”

“No.” She-Ra shakes her head, then hesitates. “Actually, older brother, I have a question.”

“A question?” The smile disappears abruptly from his face. He rises, towering above She-Ra, and she has to resist the urge to shrink away, though she doesn’t know why. “Pray tell.”

“Older brother—what is the light?” It’s the closest she can get to name the uncertainty swimming in her mind. She’s not even sure it’s the right words. But Horde Prime tilts his head, curious.

“What is the light?” In his voice, the question sounds stupid. Inane. She-Ra cringes, and almost retracts it, but something stops her. Instead, she nods.

And at this, Horde Prime’s face hardens and he takes a step closer.

“Are you questioning me, little sister?” he asks softly, and immediately, She-Ra shakes her head.

“No, older brother,” she says, and knows that she should probably leave this line of questioning behind, but something is bothering her.

The slack, empty face of a fatherly, bearded man fills her vision, and she resists the urge to shudder away.

“I want to know why we are bringing the light,” she says, and realizes as she says it that she’s tiptoeing on the edge of treason. But it isn’t treason to ask a question, is it? Just to understand better. To affirm her knowledge of the right path. “I know that the light must come in bloodshed, but—”

And then the question, which has now taken the shape of the dead man’s face, finally forms fully. The words fill her mouth, and without thinking, she spills them.

“But why do people fight against it?” she asks quietly, and from her kneeling position, looks up into the face of the man that leads her.

And his face twists, so unexpectedly and with such utter rage that she knows immediately she has done something wrong. She’s trespassed on something forbidden, a knowledge she shouldn’t be asking after, and now she’s going to suffer.

_Not fair_ floats across her mind, but she knows at the same time that she deserves it.

For a moment, Horde Prime doesn’t move. Then, abruptly, he kneels before her, so close that she shies away instinctively. It doesn’t do anything, however—he catches her jaw in his hand and forces her to look him straight in the eye, so close she can feel the hot, ugly touch of his breath on her cheek. 

“You _are_ questioning,” he hisses, his eyes sparking with utter fury, and she has the feeling suddenly that she’s being shown something she shouldn’t. Like the mask is cracking, pieces falling to the ground, and she’s now privy to a person she doesn’t recognize at all.

Or maybe the person she thought she recognized was only a mask in and of itself.

“Who has tainted you, child?” His voice is protective but harsh at the same time, demanding in a way that frightens her. “Who has poisoned your mind? I only need a name.”

She should give him one. At the very least, she could describe the woman—two words is all it would take. She might be brought into the light, or she would be otherwise disposed, and it would be good riddance to all.

It’s the right thing to do. Except, parsing it through in her mind, she’s not sure what exactly the woman has done. She has spoken rebelliously, true, but doesn’t anybody who hasn’t been brought into the light? How can she know that what she says is wrong? She can’t, can she?

“Little sister.” Horde Prime’s voice is low with warning. “I am waiting.”

It takes She-Ra a moment to make her decision. She swallows hard, conscious of Horde Prime’s nails digging into her skin, then says, “Nobody has talked to me, older brother. I had the question myself.”

For a moment, Horde Prime only searches her face, eyes narrowed. Then, abruptly, he whips his hand away and stands with a muttered word that might be a curse.

“I see.” He’s not talking to her, not even looking at her, but has his eyes on his chair, his gaze lost in furious thought. “I see.”

She-Ra kneels on the floor, nervous though she doesn’t know why, and, with every passing second, more and more conscious of her injuries. She’s sore, and tired, and for reasons she can’t explain, doesn’t want to be here. 

“Older brother,” she says hesitantly, “may I—”

“I am thinking!” Horde Prime roars, and with no warning, his booted foot lashes out, connecting painfully with her shin. She gasps, crumpling inward, and tears of pain spring to her eyes, but he takes no notice. He only glances at her once, then sighs, and waves a dismissive hand.

“Yes, child, you may go.” He doesn’t apologize, nor look at her. It takes her a moment to lever herself to her feet, and she has to test the knee as she stands, just to ascertain she can put weight on it.

It hurts, and not just physically, but deep in her stomach, with a burn she thinks she vaguely recognizes.

Betrayal. And all because she didn’t give the answer he wanted to hear.

He doesn’t turn, nor look at her as she limps away, seething and aching, her foot dragging dragging slightly with each step. It takes her what seems like forever to make it out of the command room, and once she does, she collapses against the wall and sucks in a breath, then lets it out in a huff.

She lied to him. She lied to Horde Prime, he who has shown her the light—but she’s not sure she can feel bad about it. She’s not even sure, despite knowing his reaction, that she would change what she did.

The woman is ignorant, she thinks bitterly, and once again, anger burns in her gut. She doesn’t know the light, and if she did, she would understand. Horde Prime hasn’t even given her the chance.

She-Ra would give her the chance.

The thought surprises her. She plays it over in her head, curious and poking, like a scab she can’t resist peeling. It’s not something she should be thinking, she knows, but the woman’s words haunt her mind. 

_If he didn’t have this, you’d be the one in charge._

She’s not right. She can’t be. But still, Horde Prime’s anger sits heavily at the forefront of her mind, and she can’t shake it. So too does the image of the man’s face, slackjawed and sightless, his eyes peering into nothing.

Would he have wanted to be brought to the light? she wonders. Would he have wanted the chance?

Did he want to die, alone and terrified, on that battlefield?

The thought stings unexpectedly, and she shudders away, swallowing a bitter, guilty feeling, though she’s not sure why. Of course, she’s fighting for what’s right—she has to be. This is her destiny. The light guides her. 

But what if she’s doing it all wrong?

She-Ra squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head, but the thoughts persist despite. They spin around her head, too much to parse, and the man’s face floats in her mind eye, along with thousands of others, millions even, and all she can think is maybe she should have given them the chance.

Maybe she should be bringing the light herself, rather than heralding it. 

Maybe the woman, despite her ignorance, despite her oddities, knows what she’s talking about.

Maybe, if Horde Prime won’t answer her questions, the woman will. 

She-Ra thinks this over for a few seconds, then squares her shoulders and straightens. She turns, wincing as pain shoots through her knee, then starts off down the hallway, one goal in mind.

Find the woman, and make her tell her everything she knows about the light. Then, she can figure out just what her path is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i feel like entrapta would literally just. tell she ra she's wrong. because she's entrapta. and she-ra probably usually wouldnt be in the position to actually listen, but also what if she was, ya know? or at least, that's what im trying to portray.
> 
> anyway, cracks in the plan. cracks in the plan. thank you all for reading, i hope you enjoyed!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! sorry that this chapter is a little shorter than the rest, but I spent most of yesterday finishing up and posting a long oneshot, so I didn't get to this one until late. Tomorrow's chapter will be most likely back to normal length.
> 
> And thank you, as always, for all your kind comments and kudos!

After the fight, with nothing else to do, Catra returns to her room.

“Hi, Melog,” she says, and collapses with a groan upon her bed, one hand reaching out to stroke along Melog’s flank. Melog perks his head up, then huffs out a sigh and curls around her, tail brushing over her leg. 

For a long moment, Catra doesn’t move. She’s too exhausted, both from the fight and the conversation, and she’s not sure which one is having a worse effect. Glimmer, she can feel by the bruises and burns blossoming across her body, didn’t hold back, but Catra is starting to think that it may be the conversation that’s hitting her harder.

The conversation, which is definitely responsible for the knot of dread sitting at the bottom of her stomach. 

“Melog,” she says out loud. “What the hell are we going to do?”

Melog raises his head, and makes a noise that Catra somehow knows to be _I don’t know_.

“Ugh.” With another groan, she rolls onto her side and curls into a ball, tail wrapping around her knees. Somehow, she feels like she’s sprinting and sprinting and sprinting, but all she’s doing is staying in place. Running to catch up with Adora, and just falling farther behind.

And that’s how it’s always been, isn’t it? Adora one step ahead, Adora in first place. It’s why Catra left her in the first place, at that fateful moment before the heart—because Adora didn’t need her. Only now she’s starting to realize that maybe Adora needs Catra more than anybody, because if she doesn’t have Catra, who else will she have?

King Micah only sees She-Ra, she’s sure of it. So too are the others viewing She-Ra as her own self, as an eight foot tall threat and nothing more, no matter the girl who stands underneath. 

Glimmer and Bow worry for Adora, she knows, but the question stands: do they worry like Catra does? Would they give up their lives for her, and fight against the rest of the Rebellion just to bring her home?

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know any of them well enough, and that’s the problem. This covenant of the Rebellion, which is now sliding closer to an alliance, is an uneasy one at that, and it itches at Catra uncomfortably. She feels lost, strewn on an open sea, with her only chance the leaking boat beneath her.

If she has to save Adora alone, she’s not sure she can do it.

But that’s the problem. If she can’t do it alone, then she has to work with the others, and she’s never been good at being diplomatic. She’s never been good at making friends, or currying favor, or at least, not in a way that doesn’t involve bribes or threats. Being nice still doesn’t quite sit right with her, and besides, she’s knows that’s not all there is to it.

She can’t just be nice. She needs to be smart, and she needs to be charismatic. One of those, she could probably manage.

All three? She’s not so sure.

Melog whines, and it’s only then that she realizes she’s got her fingers buried deep into his fur, her claws scraping his skin. With a quick apology, she pulls away, then sits up and hugs her knees to her chest.

Can she do it? she wonders. Can she be all the things she’s terrible at, to save Adora? Or does she need something more, some plan that will bring them over to her side? 

The problem is, she doesn’t know what that plan might be. As of now, the entire Rebellion is scared, defenseless and suspicious. Their first plan—to rebuild the ship—isn’t going to cut it.

So what is she going to do?

Catra shakes her head, then reaches out once more to stroke Melog, this time with carefully retracted claws.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Melog,” she says softly, her thoughts spinning slowly. “I have to figure out a way to make sure they don’t kill Adora. But I also have to make sure Adora doesn’t kill us. And to do that—to do that—”

She needs something else, some outside influence, some other element. Something that will convince them that Adora isn’t just a planet killing weapon. Something that will get them to see the person caught in the middle of it all. She needs—

She probably needs an update from Entrapta.

Catra’s eyes widen at the thought. Her ears perk, and so too does Melog raise his head in curiosity, ears twitching. 

“That’s it, Melog!” Quickly, she scrambles off of the bed, then onto her feet. “If anybody can do something—she’s already doing something—this is perfect!”

Or maybe not perfect, but it’s a chance, and in the quiet of her room, Catra clings to it like it’s all she’s got. Quickly, before she can rethink, or start doubting, she turns on her heel and lunges for the door, only vaguely aware of Melog watching her go.

—————

She-Ra approaches the woman cautiously, like one might approach a wild animal; hands carefully relaxed by her sides, eyes fast upon her just in case she tries anything.

Which she won’t, because She-Ra could take her easily, but she’s also unpredictable, and that, combined with the uneasy knowledge that She-Ra is doing something she probably shouldn’t be doing, sets her on edge.

“Little sister,” she greets her as she enters the woman’s room, a place she has never entered before. It’s large, but crowded, filled with bits and bobs of machinery, the functions of which She-Ra can only guess at.

At her voice, the woman starts, then spins around.

“She-Ra!” she cries with a grin so broad She-Ra nearly takes a step back. “Er, what are you doing here?”

It’s an unfairly to-the-point question. She-Ra hesitates, then squares her shoulders and takes a step deeper into the crowded room.

“I have questions,” she says firmly, and watches the woman’s eyes light up in glee.

“I _love_ questions!” she says, and leaps to her feet, then gestures for She-Ra to sit down. “Have a seat! I’ll get you some coffee.”

She-Ra hesitates again, eying the crate the woman has gestured to, but the woman has already moved away, busying herself with what must be the coffee, so after a moment She-Ra moves to the crate and sits upon it. For a moment, she feels odd, too-tall and wrong, like she’s caught in the wrong form, and then she shakes the thought from her head.

She has no other form, she thinks dimly, and something about the words are off, but she refuses to question it. 

“Here we go!” The woman returns, passing She-Ra a comically tiny mug, and she stares at it.

“This is the wrong size,” she tells her, but the woman just laughs. 

“No, it’s perfect!” She settles down on the crate beside She-Ra, and lovingly cradles her cup of coffee. It fits neatly in the palm of her hand. “Tiny things are the best, don’t you agree? They’re just…tiny!”

She-Ra only stares. The mug is warm in her palm, but she doesn’t raise it to take a sip. It’s probably not forbidden, but the whole situation is putting her on edge anyway, and she doesn’t want to sit and have coffee.

She wants to know things.

The woman takes a minuscule sip of her coffee, then lowers it and shoots She-Ra a grin. “So, what do you want to know?”

“Uh…” For a moment, her mind goes blank. The problem is, she’s not sure. She has plenty of questions, but all of them half-formed, and none of them sensical. Morever, she’s not sure which one to ask first.

“I want to know about the telepathic question,” she decides upon after a moment, and the woman nods eagerly.

“Of course!” She jabs a finger in the air, as if to punctuate her ready-explanation. “Great choice! I love telepathic connections. Well, unless they’re evil. But still—”

“Little sister,” She-Ra interrupts, annoyed, and the woman draws back to reality.

“Oh, yeah!” She smiles again, then leans forward and rubs her chin thoughtfully. “Alright. How do I explain. Hmmm…” Her eyes move to She-Ra, then land on the runestone at her chest, and she brightens.

“Perfect!” She scoots forward, ignoring the way She-Ra rears back, and jabs a finger at her runestone. “This is a great example of a forced telepathic connection. Do you see how your runestone is cracked?”

She-Ra glances down at the runestone, and frowns. “Yes. But—”

“But Horde Prime did that!” the woman interrupts gleefully. As if this is all terribly exciting. “See, here’s the thing. As She-Ra, you already had a telepathic connection to the runestone. That’s how you’re able to transform.”

“I don’t transform,” She-Ra tells her, but the woman ignores this.

“But when Horde Prime took you, he forced a connection to your runestone that shouldn’t be there—like jamming a plug into the wrong socket and expecting it to work. Only it did work, but it blew the socket. Or, well, it blew your runestone. See?” She leans over to tap the stone. “That’s why it’s all cracked and you’re stuck as She-Ra! You’re tuned to a telepathic connection that shouldn’t be there.”

She-Ra stares at her, her thoughts spinning dimly. She glances down at her runestone, and for the first time notes how ugly it looks, cracked and glowing sickly green. 

None of this makes sense, she thinks desperately, and then says it out loud. “That’s not correct. Horde Prime preserved my connection to the light. Through him, I am She-Ra.”

Or was she? She can’t remember. Everything before the light is blurry, and all she recalls is a sense of weakness, a sense of failure. She doesn’t remember being She-Ra—she doesn’t _think_ she remembers being She-Ra—

The woman huffs in annoyance. “Why do I always have to tell you people this? Data never lies. And my data—” she scrambles for some kind of small monitor, columns of numbers scrolling across it, and jabs a finger— “tells me that you had a telepathic connection to She-Ra before Horde Prime. Also, you know, I saw it with my own eyes.”

“No, but—” She-Ra tries to say, but even if she can’t parse the numbers on the woman’s screen, the words are making too much sense to be a mistake. 

“—but Horde Prime saved me,” she objects weakly, and the woman just shrugs, then tosses the monitor to the side. 

“Depends on your definition of saved,” she replies, and once more, all She-Ra can do is stare.

What is her definition of saved? Brought into the light, surely. But did Horde Prime bring her into the light, or was it She-Ra’s doing? And surely, of anyone, it is she who carries the torch to other planets, she who leads the way. Horde Prime directs her, but the light—

The light guides her.

She thinks of that moment in the command room, of his boot lashing out to connect with her shin, and anger flashes in her belly. A sense of unfairness she knows she shouldn’t feel, and yet does anyway. 

_That was wrong,_ she thinks, and it’s a forbidden thought, but something about it draws her. That was wrong, and maybe she knows what’s right.

After all, she is She-Ra. Herald of the light. Above ordinary people, maybe, and that’s why she shows them the way. 

“So.” The woman, in the wake of She-Ra’s contemplative silence, has turned back to the machine she was working on before. She gives She-Ra a sidelong glance, like she wants to ask something herself, but then she doesn’t. “Do you have anymore questions?”

A million, but none she can make sense of. There’s too much to think through already, and she’s too busy wrestling with these new, odd feelings of resentment to pick through any more information.

She’s not supposed to feel resentment, she reminds herself, but then she recalls her told her that very thing, and the resentment flares even stronger in her belly.

“No,” she says, and stands, setting her coffee carefully on the crate. The woman just shrugs, and turns to her machine. She-Ra stares at her, then turns, then stops, hesitating.

“Little sister?” she turns back, and knows this is wrong too, this small talk and business of pleasantry, but the rebellion of it compares in the face of what she’s already done, anyway. 

“Hmmm?” The woman doesn’t look up.

“Thank you,” she says, and surprises herself by meaning it. The woman does look up then, surprising crossing her face, and then she grins.

“You’re welcome…She-Ra,” she says and She-Ra gives a curt nod, then turns to the front of the room. As she walks away, she hears the woman rummaging through her tools, and then hears her murmuring tones, speaking into what might be a tape recorder.

“Experiment showing early signs of success…however, observations need to continue until I can be sure…”

Her voice trails off as She-Ra closes the door behind her, plunging herself once more into familiar silence.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, sorry about the lateness of the chapter! yours truly actually finished it last night, but ive been feeling a bit under the weather and slept in WAY late. Also i think my time zone is really behind a lot of peoples, so its not too late for me, but for the rest of the world...
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the lateness, but I hope you enjoy!

Catra slips through the halls silently, avoiding the guards with the ease of years of practice, and makes her way to the ship.

It’s empty, which is almost surprising. She knows that Bow sometimes works alone at night, fueled by insomnia and something she can’t decipher, which she should probably be kind enough to call worry. Tonight, however, he’s absent, and the ship is dark.

Except for a light blinking at the communication panel.

Catra grins as she approaches it, heart settling slightly in relief. It’s not entirely unusual to wake up to a call from Entrapta, and she’d been planning to call her anyway—preferably without the others, hence the late hour—but this will make it easier to call back. Entrapta doesn’t always answer an unexpected call—probably because, Catra suspects, she’s not always in a safe enough position to do so. However, if she’s waiting on a response—

Well. This just makes things easier.

She doesn’t bother to turn the lights on before she reaches the communication panel. Instead, she simply swipes up the radio and jabs in the code Entrapta gave them in order to get in contact.

Immediately, the beeping of the communication panel changes to what Catra recognizes to be an outgoing call. It doesn’t take long for Entrapta to pick up.

“Bow and Catra!” Her voice is loud, loud enough that Catra can tell she’s probably in a safe enough spot to speak freely. “Ooh, you guys are early! I didn’t expect you for another seven hours, at least!”

“Actually, it’s just Catra this time,” Catra says with a quick glance around, though she knows there’s nobody there. “Entrapta, I wanted to see if you had any updates on She-Ra.”

“Oh, do I!” Entrapta crows, and Catra nearly sags in relief.

“Really?” She’s leaning forward, gripping the radio so tightly it feels as if it could crumple beneath her fingertips. “What do you have? Is she…okay?”

“Okay? She’s brilliant!” Entrapta says, then seems to reel herself in. “Okay, well, not brilliant if you include the fact that she’s still under Horde Prime’s control. But yesterday she asked me telepathic connections!”

“Uh—” Catra’s heart is sinking fast. She swallows quickly, and tries to hide her disappointment. Of course, Entrapta would consider that an improvement. “Entrapta, how is that better?”

“Well, she wasn’t just asking about any telepathic connection!” Entrapta chirps, unperturbed by the slight edge Catra couldn’t quite keep out of her tone. “She asked me about her connection to Horde Prime!”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Catra leans back, stunned. She doesn’t need Entrapta’s background in science and neurology and whatever else is in that brain of hers to understand. She knows only too well what Entrapta’s talking about, because she’s been there herself. 

Under Horde Prime’s light. The quiet, pressing nature of it, muffling the world around her, smoothing things out as if there had been no wrinkles in the first place. No need to question. No need to wonder what might exist beyond Horde Prime’s next order. 

Peace, and not a single ounce of free will. She recalls it with a shudder.

“So your chip worked?” she breathes, barely able to contain—whatever she’s feeling. Joy, maybe. Optimism, but she’s already been burned once before and doesn’t want to name such a feeling again. But at her words, Entrapta hesitates, making a small, indecisive noise.

“Hmmm, well, not exactly,” she admits, and Catra stifles the optimism as quickly as it had come. “Er, but sort of! See, I managed to disrupt the signal, but not enough to throw it off completely. But it’s progress! Definitely progress!”

Catra closes her eyes, sucks in a deep breath, and lets it out in a sigh.

“Yeah,” she says once she’s found it in herself to speak. “Yeah, it is. And…thank you, Entrapta.”

“Oh, don’t thank me!” Entrapta says. “Horde Prime’s ship has amazing technology, but the life or death situation really puts a damper on things, you know. Besides, I miss my friends in Etheria.”

“Oh—” This is quickly veering down a path Catra has little experience with. “We…miss you too.”

And she means it. She misses Adora more than she would miss her heart if it’d been torn out, but that doesn’t mean, she realizes to her surprise, that she doesn’t have room for other people. Which is funny—so long had Adora taken up the sole spot in her life, be it loving her or hating her, or anything in between, that it feels weird to think of anybody else.

But maybe she should be. Maybe, actually, that’s what this whole ‘being good’ thing is supposed to be.

“…and one other thing. Are you still there?”

“Huh?” Catra jerks back to reality, only to realize Entrapta is still chattering in her ear. It takes her a moment to parse the words. “Uh, yeah. I am. What other thing?”

And immediately, she’s suspicious. Because it could be something good, certainly, but how often has that come true?

And Entrapta’s tone, when she speaks, leads Catra to suspect anything but.

“She-Ra told me something, last time we spoke.” Entrapta drops her tone low, like she’s wary of being heard. “Or the time before that, maybe—er, doesn’t matter. But she mentioned that she has a final goal in mind for Horde Prime’s light.”

Catra was right. This doesn’t sound good at all. She swallows once, hard, then sucks in a breath, fortifying herself. 

Somehow, she thinks, she already knows the answer. 

“What is it?” she asks, and prays that she’s wrong.

“Etheria.” Even Entrapta sounds worried, which is not good, because Entrapta rarely sounds worried. Not even when trapped on a ship and forced to work for the most violent conqueror in the universe. “She-Ra wants to take Etheria. That’s why—”

“They’re getting closer.” Catra closes her eyes, and lets out her breath in a sharp sigh. Of course. Of course the worst possibility would be the one Horde Prime is gunning for. Of course he would want revenge, and even better if he could get it through She-Ra. And though she hates, absolutely hates, to admit it, Glimmer is right; without She-Ra, they’re hopeless. Against her, they’ll be devastated. 

“Yep.” Entrapta hums disconcertedly. “Did you know about this? That was the main thing I wanted to tell you. I thought—”

“No, it’s perfect.” Catra’s eyes snap open, and she leans forward, gripping the radio tighter. “Entrapta, thank you for telling me. I can—pass it on to the others. You don’t have to mention it again. Uh, in case somebody hears you.”

“Oh, okay.” Entrapta actually sounds relieved. “Good, because Horde Prime likes keeping an eye on me, I think. Lucky I’ve built some tech which is pretty good at disabling his listening devices, but—”

“No, it’s great,” Catra says quickly, then backtracks. “Well, not great. But good you told me. I’ll tell the others, and we’ll, uh—figure something out.”

More like, she’ll figure something out with Melog, because there’s no way she can let on about this. Not now, not yet, not when everybody is already turning against Adora. Sure, she has some good news too, but what’s a measly bout of questioning versus the fact that Adora might be headed for Etheria, very soon?

No, she can’t let them know. She’ll have to work alone, just like she’s always worked alone, but this time, it’ll be for the greater good. Or rather, for Adora’s good, which is really the only good that she cares about anyway. She can’t even tell Bow and Glimmer—they might understand, but the risk is far too great that they don’t.

“Alright!” In the silence, she can practically hear Entrapta growing edgy. “I think I need to sign off now—can’t disable those devices too long, or he’ll get suspicious. You know.”

“I know.” Catra nods. “And seriously, Entrapta—thanks.”

“Anytime,” Entrapta replies, then there’s a crackle of static, and she’s gone, her voice swallowed into the silence of the ship.

Catra stands there for a long time, just absorbing the information she’s received. Hope tastes bitter on her tongue, but she swallows it anyway, and curls her fists at her sides.

She can do this, she thinks to herself, and then wonders if she can. It’s not much, her solitary self up against the Horde, and the entire Rebellion.

But if Adora managed to fight both her friends and Horde Prime the first time, then Catra can too. 

And hopefully it’ll turn out a lot better this time around.

—————

She’s standing on a battlefield, and she doesn’t remember how she got there.

She’s sparring with a girl she doesn’t remember but knows all the same, and with one blow she wins, and the girl pretends that she doesn’t care but she can see that she does.

She’s curled upon a cold stone floor, gasping in agony as something—the word ‘heart’ floats in her mind—flows into her, painful and overpowering, impossible to withstand—

She’s back on the battlefield, the wind whistling starkly through the wreckage, and around her she can only hear the moans of the dying. In the distance, someone screams, long and anguished, and the urge rises in her to help before she remembers that that’s not who she is, anymore. 

Instead, a bearded man scrambles backwards, his face a rictus of fear, and she raises a hand—

She-Ra awakes with a gasp, sweat sheening her forehead, and for a moment, doesn’t remember where she is. Then her room swarms into vision, cramped and small, her bed too short and her covers barely reaching her chest. She stares for a long moment, chest heaving, then swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands.

Normally, she sleeps in a stripped down version of her regular uniform—white trousers and a white shirt, her boots and armor lined upon the sole shelf in the room. Normally, she doesn’t leave her room without donning her regular dress, if only because the lack of it feels odd, like walking naked through the hallways.

But lately her armor has been sitting oddly, her boots not quite fitting, which is why she pads past her shelf and instead to the sink set into the far wall, above which a mirror sits. 

In the dim light, she blinks at her reflection, trying to puzzle out the difference. On the surface, nothing has changed. Her eyes glow a soft, familiar green, and so too does the cracked runestone eke light at her chest. Her hair, raggedly cut after her acceptance into the light, hangs over her forehead, tumbles past her ears. With one hand, she reaches up to push a lock back, and for a moment imagines a ponytail, long and flowing.

But that’s just a mirage—her real self is looking right back at her, blinking wearily from dreams she remembers far too well.

She should go to Horde Prime. She hasn’t had dreams in a while, but when she does, she tells him, and then he sets her at peace. It would be the right thing to do, to wipe the strange, disturbing images from her mind. She could return to her rest, and wake the next day ready for whatever campaign he might set before her.

_But it won’t be Etheria_ , a voice whispers bitterly at the back of her head, and though she pushes that thought away, it doesn’t go quietly.

She-Ra stares at her reflection for a moment longer, then blinks and looks down at the sink. For a moment, she recalls a sink full of hair, watching blond tresses fall one by one, her own tears falling with them, and then she forces the image away.

She’s unwell, maybe. The last campaign has riddled her with questions and doubts, images she cannot shake. Horde Prime would set her right. It would only take a word.

But it might also mean a boot lashing out to meet bone, and though he’s only hit her once, the feel of it sits far too comfortably in her memory to be happenstance. Even now, the thought makes her flinch, as if she’s been dealt a thousand blows before, though of course she can’t truly recall. Her life before the Horde is a blur. 

For a moment, just a moment, she wishes it wasn’t, just so she could place some images in her head. They’re scattered and piecemeal, but they pull at her uncomfortably, and it’s hard to resist.

Of course, she should resist, because those memories have no place in the light, but even that is confusing too. Because the light is peace, and beauty, and _easy_ —it draws her like nothing else. Addicting, almost, except those memories draw her in too, and it’s a strange dichotomy.

Logically, she knows that it’s wrong to follow them. But deep down, something in her longs for them. She wants to understand what she is doing. She wants to be sure. The light is supposed to be the answer—would it be so bad if she sought even more? If she has questions, shouldn’t she be putting them to rest, rather than leaving them to nag at the back of her skull?

It makes sense, but she knows, instinctively, that it’s not what Horde Prime would command her to do.

Which is why, maybe, she won’t tell him. 

She-Ra looks once more at her reflection, then sucks in a breath, squares her shoulders, and turns. She ignores her armor, ignores her boots, and instead pads quietly into the hallway, knowing that if she gets caught she’ll be absolutely toast.

But for reasons she can’t quite understand, she doesn’t want to put her uniform on until she’s absolutely sure why she’s wearing it.

She meets no guards on her way to the woman’s room, and doesn’t bother knocking. This surprises the woman, who, though awake and clearly working on something, yelps in surprise and spins around.

“Horde Pri—oh, She-Ra! You’re not here to yell at me, are you?”

She-Ra stares, puzzled. “I do not wish to yell at you. I have more questions.”

Immediately, the woman brightens. “Great! I have answers.”

“Good.” She-Ra nods, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how dressed down she is. She’s supposed to be almighty, towering above those who might defy her, or those, like this woman, who have not come into the light.

But instead, despite her best instincts, when the woman beckons for her to sit, she does so, balancing on a crate.

“Coffee?” The woman is already reaching for the nearby machine. “Tiny food?”

She-Ra shakes her head. “I only want answers. I’m having…” she hesitates. “Images. Dreams, that I shouldn’t have.”

The woman pauses, her hand stretched to the coffee machine. Then she turns, and eyes She-Ra curiously.

“Doesn’t Horde Prime fix those?” she asks, and She-Ra opens her mouth, then shuts it again.

“Yes, but…” But what? She’s wary of another punishment, though she has no reason to expect one? She’s still bitter over their last encounter, though she knows she shouldn’t be? It was, after all, a small injury. She’s endured far worse in the rehabilitation tank, and even on the battlefield. Why should she care about a lousy kick to the shins?

Because it came from him, is the answer that immediately comes to her head. It came from him, and had no reason, and she still can’t make sense of it, and because she can’t make sense of it, she can’t approach him. Not until she figures a few things out.

“But I want different answers first,” she says. “Answers Horde Prime…won’t give me.”

The woman nods, as if this is completely unexpected. “Alright, She-Ra. What’re your questions?”

For a moment, She-Ra doesn’t answer, but thinks it over. “I think…I need to know why I keep having these dreams. Horde Prime…he’s supposed to have gotten rid of them.”

And isn’t that another failure of his? she thinks with a flash of anger. She’s supposed to be perfect, whole. Clearly, his solutions aren’t working if her subconscious still keeps sliding back to wherever it came from. 

The woman looks at her, then shrugs and reaches for a nearby toolbox. “Well, I can’t tell you why he hasn’t gotten rid of them completely. Could be, you’re more powerful than he realizes. Or, your memories are. You know, as She-Ra, you have a lot of stuff locked up in there.” She points a finger at She-Ra’s head. “Probably nothing like anything he’s dealt with. I wouldn’t be surprised if his regular suppression methods aren’t working.”

This draws She-Ra’s interest. “What suppression methods?”

The woman just shrugs again, even as she continues to rummage around in her toolbox. “You know, the usual brainwashing stuff. Memory retooling, mind control, that kind of stuff. Whatever keeps you in line. Oh, hey!”

She lets out a shout of triumph, and pulls out what looks like a bundle of wires, suction cups attached to the ends. “Here we go!”

“I’m not brainwashed,” She-Ra tells her irritatedly, but the woman isn’t listening. She’s busy untangling the wires with an intense sort of glee, and when she finishes, she holds one up to She-Ra.

“See this?” When She-Ra nods, her grin lights up the room. “Great! So, this is a memory enhancer. I’ve been working on it as a side project for a—a friend of mine. Who isn’t here right now.” Her eyes flick nervously over She-Ra momentarily, and then she continues. “But, you could use it too! All I have to do is attach these—” 

She leans forward, and before She-Ra can react, presses one of the suction cups to her forehead, then another to her chest. “—here, and here, and here. And then I plug them in here—” she plugs them into what looks like a small, handheld monitor, then holds it up— “and we can begin!”

“Begin what?” She-Ra asks. She frowns, and has to resist the urge to rip the suction cup from her forehead.

“Begin the experiment!” the woman says. When She-Ra just stares uncomprehendingly, she sags, then stabs a finger at the handheld monitor.

“Using this—” She speaks slowly, as if to a child— “I can enhance some of your memories. Not all of them, because, uh, Horde Prime took some, but I can sharpen these dreams you’ve been having. Give you a chance to examine them. Sound good?”

She’s grinning rather madly, like she just can’t wait for She-Ra to say yes, but She-Ra hesitates. This is, truthfully, the opposite of what Horde Prime would want. She knows it, has known it from the start, and yet she’s still sitting here. Why doesn’t she refuse? Why doesn’t she turn away?

She’s not sure. But there’s something inside of her that has her nodding, with an expression that turns wary as the woman lets out a squeal of excitement and turns toward the monitor.

“Should only take a little—” She’s fiddling with the controls and despite herself, She-Ra leans forward to see. “There!”

And then, with no further ado, she slams a button.

Instantly, She-Ra is on the floor. She doesn’t even feel herself fall. She hits with a thud, and her hands go to her eyes as if she can block out the images, but it’s too late. They stream through her mind, sharper than they ever were in her dreams, and before she can even suck in a breath, she’s drowning.

Standing on a battlefield, tossing a grenade into a tank and not even pausing to hear the screams—

Watching a familiar girl with pointy ears and a sneering smirk pull a lever that she knows, she knows, will send the world spiraling into the abyss—

Friends, friends she doesn’t remember, and the very feeling of the memories ripped away by a cruel hand, her whole life torn apart piece by piece, like faces cut out of a photograph—

She’s fighting, and she keeps fighting, and she never stops, not until she brings the light, not until a whole world is bathed in blood and her hands stained with it, because that’s what she does, right? She’s She-Ra, savior, hero, purveyor of light, and she is so much more—

So much more than the dead faces that stare behind her eyelids.

“Whoa—whoa there!” 

There’s a tentative hand on her shoulder, shaking like it’s not sure what it’s supposed to do, and when She-Ra opens her eyes, the world is blurry. It takes her a moment to realize why, and then she reaches up to wipe away tears with the flat of her hand.

“Okay, that was way more powerful than I thought.” The woman is grinning at her, and as she watches she pulls out what looks like a tape recorder and presses a button. “Experiment definitely a success, though we’ll have to collect more data to ascertain the extent. We’ll start with questions. How do you feel?”

This is accompanied by the tape recorder itself, shoved into her face. She-Ra stares at it blankly for a long moment, then shoves it away and heaves herself into a sitting position.

“That was—” She shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut, but the images are still there, bright and leering, and though she presses her palms to her eyes, they don’t fade. “I can’t—they’re—”

Dead bodies and friends she doesn’t remember, friends who are lost and confused, and dead bodies that could have been brought to the light, only she didn’t even give them the chance, she—

She shudders.

“This is wrong,” she tells the woman, who for a moment, doesn’t seem to understand. Then, it clicks.

“Yes, it is!” she exclaims, and scrambles for her toolbox. “Finally, you’re getting it! Horde Prime is wrong, She-Ra! He’s controlling you because he wants power!”

“You’re right,” She-Ra says dizzily, her eyes not on the woman, but unfocused on the far wall. And now that she’s said it out loud, all the pieces are falling into a place, like a long abandoned puzzle she’s finally finished. 

The woman is right. Horde Prime is wrong. He isn’t guiding her through the light; he’s blocking it. He’s using the light for his own selfish desires, greedily gathering power while he sends She-Ra out to conquer the universe in his name.

She has a destiny, but this isn’t it. It can’t be it.

“You’re right,” she repeats dumbly, and then she snaps her jaw shut and scrambles to her feet, just as the woman looks up from her toolbox. 

“And now I can work on disabling your rune—She-Ra?” She blinks up at her, confused. “Where are you going?”

“I’m—” She-Ra starts, then stops. Where is she going? She isn’t sure herself. Confusion and betrayal and slow anger are clogging her thoughts, chasing each other in dizzying circles, making it impossible to think.

“I’m going to talk to Horde Prime,” she says, and her hands curl into fists at her sides. Immediately, though the idea rebels against every inclination she has to obey, to listen, she knows that it’s the right one. The woman is right—she’s been used and manipulated, torn apart and put back into his pieces and now—

Now, she’ll show him just who She-Ra truly is.

“Wait,” the woman calls as She-Ra turns, knocking over a nearby wrench as she scrambles to her feet. “She-Ra, wait! I need to look at your runestone, you’re still connected to—”

But She-Ra isn’t listening. Anger has her instead, and now, rather than the light, she uses it to guide her, pulling her along the correct course.

Because she never needed Horde Prime, she realizes with a hint of vengeful satisfaction. She’s She-Ra, herald of the light, and that, in itself, is enough. 

And now, she’ll prove it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! thank you for all the lovely comments last chapter. Im really excited for this one, and hope it lives up. Just a warning: there is some non canon typical violence near the end of the chapter, for those who are squeamish. It's not super explicit, but there are mentions of blood.

“Hey, Catra?”

“Hmm?” Catra pokes her head out from beneath a panel, and shoots Bow a questioning look. They’re in the middle of fixing yet another shield panel, which may as well be worthless, since they don’t have the parts to get them into space. Tiria, according to the reports, has been demolished. Last Catra had heard, Glimmer is searching frantically for a neighboring planet that might offer them the parts they needed. So far, she hasn’t had any luck.

But because they have nothing to do, they’re here on the ship. Fixing it.

Bow, when Catra finds him, is not working on the ship. Rather, he’s sitting with his hands planted on his knees, moodily watching the far communication panel. Catra frowns, waiting for him to speak, and when he doesn’t, reaches over to jab him in the arm.

“Arrow boy. What is it?”

“Ow,” Bow complains, pulling back his arm, but he does bring his gaze to her. His forehead is lined in contemplative worry, enough to set Catra at ill ease. “Uh, nothing, really. I was just wondering if you heard anything from Entrapta.”

“If I heard…?” Quickly, Catra straightens, her heart beating fast. “What? No. Why would I hear anything from her?”

“Oh, well, yeah.” Bow shrugs, then leans back, planting his hands on the floor. “I don’t know. It’s just, we usually get a message from her every couple of days. Now, it’s been five, and I was wondering…”

“She might just be busy,” Catra cuts in, before he can follow his suspicion down any particular tangent. “I mean, she’s stuck on Horde Prime’s spaceship doing who knows what. He might have gotten suspicious, and she’s trying to lay low. You know. That kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Bow sighs, but his eyes remain distant, focused on the wall past her head. “I don’t know. I was just hoping we’d hear something about Adora.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Guiltily, Catra can feel her ears flattening against her head. Luckily, Bow doesn’t seem to notice. “Me too. But I guess we’ll just have to be patient.”

At this, Bow refocuses on her, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “Since when have you been the one talking patience?”

“What? I’m always patient—ugh, shut up!” She scowls and turns away at his grin, which has only grown wider. Instead, she glares at the far wall, and tries to avoid the guilt festering in her stomach.

She still hasn’t been able to get in contact with Entrapta again, but that might not mean anything. Like she’d just told Bow, she could be busy, or trying to avoid detection. It might not have anything to do with Adora, or the supposed invasion of Etheria, which, for all Catra knows, might come at any moment. 

She still hasn’t figured out what to do about that one, either. She’d spent the last few days in sleepless turmoil, trying to come to a course of action, but every path she sees is fraught with uncertainty. If she spills her knowledge about the invasion, she’ll surely turn the others against Adora. On the other hand, if she doesn’t, Adora might kill them all before they can even try to break her free. 

Caught between a rock and a hard place, and she can almost feel time running short, like sand spilling through an hourglass. Not to mention, with no update from Entrapta, she has precious little with which to fight the others’ opinions. How can she argue for Adora’s salvation when all she has is ‘asked a question about telepathic connections?’

Basically, all Catra can think is that she’s pretty much screwed. But with yet another briefing looming on the morrow, she’ll have to come to a decision soon, for better or worse.

And all she can think, though she hates herself for it, is it would be so much easier if she could just talk to somebody. Two heads are better than one, right? Or even three? 

But not two heads you can’t trust, and at the moment, Catra only trusts her own. So after a moment of thought, she scoffs, and, conscious of Bow’s still-evident worry, turns around to face him.

“Seriously, it’s probably nothing,” she says. “I bet we’ll have an update today or tomorrow. Hopefully.”

Which means that in the middle of the night, Catra will sneak back to the ship and check all messages before anybody else can get to them. Just to be sure.

“Yeah.” Bow frowns, his worry not entirely gone, then gives a tentative smile. “Hey, at least we have something to keep us busy, right?”

For a moment, Catra doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Then, he sweeps a hand across the ship, and she scowls.

“You mean the useless ship that can’t take us anywhere?” she growls, and his smile drops from his face. 

“Listen, it’s better than nothing!” he replies. “Besides, you never know—if we can get this thing running—”

“We still have to figure out a plan to get past Horde Prime’s forces,” Catra shoots back. “Or have you forgotten?”

Bow’s smile, already nearly gone, fades away completely. “What happened to optimism?”

“I was being patient, not optimistic,” Catra replies, but at his raised eyebrow glance, she huffs and bends back underneath the panel she’d been working on. “But fine! Fine. We’ll work on the useless ship, until we figure out we can’t fix it, and then we’ll scrap it for parts.”

“Wow, you’re really a glass half empty person, huh?” Bow says, his voice muffled as he too crouches underneath a panel. “Hey, worst comes to worst, we can use the weapons systems. You know, in case we need to, uh, defend ourselves.”

He’s out of sight of Catra, so he can’t notice the way she immediately goes still, her wrench pausing mid-turn. It takes her a moment to close her eyes, summon a breath, and gather herself.

_Don’t snap. You have to play it cool._

“Yeah,” she says after a long moment. “Defend ourselves.”

She leaves it there, and so does he, as they slowly lose themselves to the workings of the ship, but it doesn’t leave her mind. Instead, as she works, she can’t quite smother the feeling of foreboding that rises in her chest.

Bow is thinking of her as a weapon. So is Glimmer, probably, and King Micah, and the rest of the Rebellion, not to mention Horde Prime. Even Adora herself almost certainly sees herself as a weapon, rather a person. Horde Prime had seen to that.

So if that’s all anybody sees, Catra wonders with a chill of fear, how long does it take to become the truth?

—————

“She-Ra! She-Ra, wait!” 

The woman bursts out of her room, hot on She-Ra’s heels. She-Ra, for her part, doesn’t turn around. 

“She-Ra,” the woman huffs as she catches up to She-Ra’s long stride by the help of her hair. “Wait. I think you should let me look at your—”

“No.” She-Ra doesn’t stop, nor does she turn to face the woman. “You do not need to be here, little sister. This is my business with Lord Prime.”

“Yeah, well—” The woman pauses, clearly struggling for an answer. “Are you sure you don’t have more questions for me first? I have lots of answers!”

“Your answers are not the answers I seek,” She-Ra responds through gritted teeth. “They are for Lord Prime alone. But thank you for your help, little sister.”

“Uh, anytime,” the woman says, but continues to walk alongside She-Ra, mouth pursed as if she wants to say something but can’t decide what. “But are you sure this is the right thing to do?”

“Why shouldn’t it be?” She-Ra shoots back easily. “If I have questions with the process, why should I ask you, little sister? Horde Prime is in the light. He is the one who has guided me. I just need to…clear up some confusion.”

Like why he needs a telepathic connection with her, when she is so readily obedient. Like why he chooses to kill most of a planet’s population, instead of half, or even a third. Like why he again and again disregards her request to return to Etheria, as if he is afraid, when she of all people knows there is nothing to be afraid of. 

“Okay, but,” the woman is saying as she struggles to keep up. “What if we…thought about this? I mean, logically, direct conflict is not the most viable op—”

“I am not instigating conflict,” She-Ra replies icily. “I just have questions. Horde Prime will understand.”

In fact, she’s not confident that he will, but there’s some greater, angrier part of her that doesn’t care. The words _tricked_ and _stupid_ keeping running through her head, coated with a deep uncertainty, the anxious feeling that she’s taken a wrong turn long ago, and only now is starting to realize.

She has to be on the right path. She’s sure of it. But if she’s going about it the wrong way…

Well. She’ll just have to clear some things up.

The woman clearly doesn’t have an answer for this, but she doesn’t stay behind either. She opens her mouth, shuts it again, then sets her jaw and lengthens her strides to keep up.

For a moment, when She-Ra enters the command room, she’s afraid that Horde Prime won’t be there. He does leave sometimes, she knows, for missions that he doesn’t trust his younger siblings to carry out. For missions that he doesn’t trust her to carry out.

(What might those be? she wonders, then adds the question to the growing list in her head.)

But at her entrance, his chair turns to face her, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Little sister.” His eyes move from She-Ra, to the woman, then narrow. “It is your designated sleeping hours.”

“Yes, older brother.” When She-Ra reaches the foot of his chair, she sinks to the floor, prostrating herself before him,, though this time, something inside her rebels against it. To that end, she only manages a second in the position before raising herself to face him. “However, I have…I have questions, for you.”

“I see.” Horde Prime’s eyes are not upon her. Instead, they remain upon the other woman, sharp and gauging. “And why is she here?”

“Er…” She-Ra doesn’t know how to answer. “She wanted to come, older brother.”

“Yes!” The woman rocks nervously forward on the soles of her feet, hands churning. “You see, I, er, have a vested interest in this experi—conversation.”

Horde Prime doesn’t immediately, answer this. He regards the woman for a long moment, nostrils flared, then sniffs and leans forward, eying the woman with such unrestrained hostility that even She-Ra wants to cringe away.

“And I don’t suppose you have…some other involvement in this…farce?” he asks, and the woman, drawing back, can only stutter for an answer.

“Well, it—it sort of, uh, depends on what you consider—”

“She does not.”

Horde Prime’s eyes snap to She-Ra, and without thinking, she really does cringe away slightly, though she knows she shouldn’t. _Weakness_ , a voice whispers inside her head, and then another voice, sly and insidious, wonders why she should even be afraid at all, if what the woman says is true.

“Little sister.” Horde Prime’s lips move slowly, his whole face unnaturally still, and void of emotion. Eerily void. “I don’t presume you would lie to me.”

“I—” Unable to speak, She-Ra only shakes her head. Her mouth has gone dry for reasons she can’t explain, for reasons that perhaps recall that unwarranted kick to the shins not too long ago. But then, on every other occasion, when she has fulfilled his will, he has been kind. Or rather, not kind, but—

She’s not sure what he has been, honestly. But she’s not so far gone with suspicion that some inkling of trust doesn’t remain.

There is, after all, some part of her that still believes that if she can ask a few questions, she can just get this figured out.

“She is not in the light,” she manages at last, overriding her inexplicable fear. “She is ignorant.”

“I am most certainly not—”

“And I came to these questions on my own, older brother,” She-Ra hurries to add, speaking loud enough to drown out the woman. “She only…clarified them.”

“Clarified.” Horde Prime studies She-Ra for a long moment, his expression indecipherable. For a moment, She-Ra is half afraid that he might break into anger, lash out again, or do something else she can only imagine.

But then, unexpectedly, he smiles, dropping his chin as he breaks into soft laughter.

“I see.” He’s still laughing, shaking his head, and She-Ra can only stare as he stands, steps forward, then crouches right in front of her. “My dear child.” One hand reaches out to cup her chin, and though she flinches slightly at the contact, she doesn’t pull away. “You are so…confused.” A sharp finger strokes her jaw. He sighs, nearly apologetic. “I am sorry to see you going through with this. It must be incredibly painful.”

“It…” She-Ra swallows hard. She’s not sure he’s entirely right, is the problem. She doesn’t feel as if she’s in pain. Confused, certainly, but hasn’t she always been confused? How long has she been experiencing these dreams, these images, and how many times has he tried to take them away? 

If she could just figure things out for herself…

“It isn’t painful, older brother,” she tries to say, even as his grip grows tight around her jaw. “But if I—”

“Hush, child.” With a jerk, Horde Prime forces her to look him straight in the eye, his grip impossibly strong. His voice, in comparison, is incredibly soft. “In a moment, you will be free of confusion. I need only a moment.”

His hand, almost tenderly, like a father caressing a child, creeps to the side of her head. Without thinking, her eyes slide shut, her mind slipping into almost preparatory relaxation. She knows what’s coming. She knows what he always does. Just a touch, sometimes painful sometimes not, and all her questions will be gone. Her thoughts, clear.

But it never works, does it?

She’s opening her eyes just as his hand presses to her temple, and raises a hand to push his touch away. “No.”

Horde Prime’s gaze jerks to hers in surprise. His hand stills, and his grip on her jaw tightens.

“What?” His voice is utterly soft, and entirely threatening.

“No.” She blinks, surprised at her own rebellion. But she can feel it now, the anger in her gut, the unfairness swirling around her, the feeling of being _tricked_ , and _used_ and _just a tool_ , and before she can stop herself or think twice, she’s pulling away and staggering to her feet. 

“No,” she says again as she stands, and Horde Prime stands as well, his eyes narrowing and his hands curling into fists. “I don’t want to forget. I want to know things. I want to know about—about the telepathic connection. And why you can’t trust me to follow orders. And why we need to kill so many people, instead of—instead—”

“Careful, She-Ra,” Horde Prime sneers, his eyes blazing hot. “You know not what you are asking.”

“I do know what I’m asking,” She-Ra says, braver than she feels, her own fists tightening as if to bolster her nerves. “Why, older brother, have you not taught me to bring the light myself? Why have we not yet reached Etheria? Why—”

“SILENCE!” With a roar, Horde Prime flings out his hand, and though there’s no bolt of energy, no otherwise sign of a blow, something tears through She-Ra’s mind, heavy and sharp like teeth, so painful it hurts to move, it hurts to breathe, it hurts to _think_ —

She’s on the floor when she comes to a moment later, gasping for breath, and Horde Prime is standing over her, practically quivering in fury. A few meters away, the woman stands, frozen in helpless shock.

“Adora!” she gasps, and She-Ra doesn’t know who that is, but she sees Horde Prime flinch in displeasure at the name.

“You are being insolent,” he snarls, and stoops down so as to crouch over her prone form, one hand hovering as if to strike her again. “You are flirting with rebellion, She-Ra, and I will not have it. I cannot lose you to the light. Not after everything we have accomplished.”

He twists his hand, and She-Ra sucks in a breath as pain worms once more through her mind, digging through her skull, tearing through thoughts and memories like paper. 

“I—” She curls in on herself, barely able to think never mind move, but one thought sparks at the forefront of her mind, and she clings to it desperately.

“You’re wrong,” she gasps, only to let out a cry as her very thoughts twist in agony again. “You—I did this, I am bringing the light—”

“Yes, and who guides you?” Horde Prime laughs, loud and cruel. “Who saved you, little sister? Who gave you a purpose? Without me, you are nothing. Without me, you are merely a broken girl, a useless failure, and so you would have remained if I had not—”

“You are _wrong_ ,” She-Ra snarls, and, with all the blind fury she has left, with all her strength against the pain, she reaches out, grabs him by the ankle, and _pulls_.

The reaction is instantaneous. He lets out a very ignoble yelp, and falls, and as he falls, so too does the pain fall away, dropping into blessed clearheadedness. As he hits the ground, She-Ra scrambles to her feet, ignoring the aches and phantom pain that cling to her body, and approaches him.

“Why won’t you answer my questions?” she cries, and some part of her too cries that this is wrong, she should be listening, but she’s tired of _listening_. She’s tired of doubts, and worries, and veering down a path she can see so clearly to be wrong, when he won’t even _hear her_. “Why do I have to forget? Why can’t I know the things you know?”

Horde Prime snarls at her, and starts to struggle to his feet. “Little sister, you are misguided. You are not capable of understanding—”

“Yes, I am!” As he makes it to his knees, she reaches out a hand and grabs him by the shoulder, pushing him back down. Behind her, she can hear the woman’s triumphant cry.

“Yes, She-Ra! Tell him! You can understand!”

“Foolish.” Horde Prime sneers, but he doesn’t try to make it to his feet again, not when She-Ra is standing over him. Instead, he raises a hand. “Now, little sister, I am sorry for what is to come—”

“No.” Something new is rising in her, not quite anger, but not quite calm either. It’s closer to the sort of adrenaline that she finds on the battlefield, a righteous sort of rage, like she’s standing on the right path and all she has to do is take a step forward.

He won’t even answer her questions. The thought rebounds through her head, bitter and stinging. Instead, he hurts her, and hasn’t he always hurt her? How much has she sacrificed for the light, and how much has she sacrificed for his own personal gain. Who is she serving, really?

How much destruction has she wrought in pursuit of his goals, and how much more is she going to take?

“No,” she says again, and rage flies up in her, hot enough to choke, and before his fingers can form around the signal she knows will have her on the floor, she reaches out and grabs his arm, twisting it down.

“AUGH—!” He lets out a roar of pain and tries to jerk away, but she has him by the arm, and then she’s dragging him upright, then, before he can react beyond an angry snarl, she’s tossing him backwards, into his chair.

She’s strong. She’s always been strong, strong enough to take out planets, strong enough to set whole worlds aflame, but it’s only now that she’s standing up against the man she once believed to guide her that she realizes how strong she truly is. Because she has the light upon her side, the true light, and he doesn’t. He’s nothing but a murderer, and she—she—

She is justice. She is the true savior. She is She-Ra, and she is a far better guide to the light than him.

“You are wrong,” she says as she approaches, adrenaline and anger pumping through her veins. “I thought—I thought my destiny led through you. But you’ve hurt me, and you’ve kept things from me, and when I ask questions, you just take them away.”

Horde Prime glares heatedly as he staggers to his feet, wincing, clinging to his chair. She continues as she approaches, and as she does, she can feel her armor forming upon her, her sword summoned to her hand. 

“You are not the light,” she tells him, and the moment she says it, she knows it to be true. He makes it to his feet, and draws himself up to full height, but it doesn’t matter, because she’s taller than him. 

“You do not know of which you speak,” he sneers, still defiant, even as one hand weakly grips his chair. “You are but an insolent child. I have made you so much better than you could ever be. Do you think you’d even survive without me? With a broken runestone?” He laughs, low and harsh. “Are you sure you’d like to find out?”

“I—” For a moment, doubt runs through her. Then, she shakes it off and snarls. “I know what I am without you. I’m better.”

She raises the sword, and in that moment she truly is ready to bring it down, to end it once and for all—and never gets there. With one last desperate cry, he launches himself at her, sending them both crashing to the floor, sword skittering off across the smooth surface. For several moments, they only struggle together, fists and boots flying, fingers clawing, and then Horde Prime deals her a blow that sends her reeling back, and before she can react, he’s on his feet, one hand gripping her collar as he drags her into a kneeling position.

“I knew it,” he sneers, even as she struggles to pull away. “You are weak. Nothing but a girl, and a stupid one at that. You think you know better than me? You think you can defeat me?”

For a moment, She-Ra hesitates. Though he hasn’t even raised his hand, she can feel the first drops of pain blossoming through her skull, an insidious threat. And as she stares at him, he smiles and raises his hand, fingers moving in a familiar fashion.

“Clearly, you have outlived your purpose,” he snarls, and fear, hot as an iron, runs through her. “A shame that most of us serve only temporary use.”

His hand raises higher, and out of the corner of her eye, She-Ra catches the hilt of her sword, glinting off to the left. If she could only reach it—

“Now,” Horde Prime continues, his cruel smile growing, “I am afraid I will have to continue without you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, there’s a flicker of movement.

“Here, She-Ra!” The woman scoops up the sword and, before Horde Prime can react, tosses it clumsily in She-Ra’s direction. It lands a meter away, and quickly, with all the strength she can muster, she wrenches away from his grip and lunges for it.

“No!” he roars, and lunges for her, but it’s too late. She already has her hands around the hilt, the power of the sword humming through her grip with familiar ease, and just as he reaches her, hands out, sneer frozen upon his face, she whirls around and _stabs_.

The sword slices cleanly through his white armor and sinks deep, deep, deeper than it seems it could ever go. She gasps with the cold surprise of it, the very shock of the action, but can’t pull away, can’t even stumble to her feet as he lets out a low moan and sags over the sword, his whole body going limp in death.

Death. She’s killed him. It takes her a moment to process the action. In fact, for nearly twenty seconds, she just kneels there, shaking all over, her whole body numb.

Then, with a sick, slick sound, she pulls out the sword and clambers to her feet.

The light has not receded. It lingers at the edges of her vision, and when she looks down, her runestone is flickering wildly, flashing through green. So too is the liquid that pools upon the floor beneath his body, and she stares at it for a long moment, feeling sick. Sick, and…something else.

Not anger. Not vindication. Just pure, wild adrenaline, jumpy and harsh, like she’s either going to pass out or scream. Too many thoughts whirl around her head, and she can’t name them all.

She’s still shaking, she realizes, and she doesn’t know why. She’d thought, maybe, that she might be upset if he’d died. Instead, she only feels…strange.

Strange, and oddly free, like somebody has taken a boulder off her shoulders and smashed it to pieces.

“You…you did it.” The woman approaches, her eyes round as saucers. Her hand twitches to the tape recorder at her belt, but doesn’t remove it. “Adora…are you okay?”

She-Ra looks up at her, and takes a moment to really see the woman. Her chest is heaving, she notices suddenly, her heart racing. 

She’s free. The thought rises to fill her whole head, beating back uncertainty and the nauseous feeling that had risen at seeing the strange, green blood.

She’s free, and she’s right. Horde Prime, she realizes now, didn’t answer her questions because he was scared. He didn’t want to give her too much power; he feared the wrongs she could right if she was in control.

But she’s in control now, isn’t she? There’s nobody else to be so. The light still lingers at the corners of her consciousness, and though now she has no older brother to guide her, maybe she doesn’t need one.

Maybe she can bring the light herself.

“Adora…?” The woman is watching her, nervous as the silence persists. “Do you want me to look at your runestone? I can…”

“No.” She-Ra shakes her head, pushing away thoughts like flies. She has to focus. She’s free now, and she can do all the things she’s longed to do for so long.

Now, she can bring the light herself.

“Do you know how to fly the ship?” She whirls to face the woman, who takes a hurried step back and gulps.

“Uh, metaphorically, no, but in the technical sense…yes,” she admits, and She-Ra smiles.

“Good,” she says, and this is different, this is strange, this new feeling, but she thinks she likes it. Not just freedom, but…power. A destiny, that Horde Prime has been keeping from her.

“I want you to chart a course,” she says, before the woman can open her mouth to respond, “to Etheria. It’s time to go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, some of you have guessed this, but i didnt want to give it away. but ye, it does get worse before it gets better. but i PROMISE it wil get better. at least, you know, before we get to the hurt/comfort etc. which will happen bc i love that stuff wbk


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, thank u all for the lovely comments! i love hearing what you have to say, and im so glad you're enjoying so far!
> 
> we're getting closer and closer to the mid-climax of the story, and I, for one, am excited :D

It is an evidential truth, Entrapta reflects as she stands frozen, that of any one variable in her many experiments, the most unpredictable is that of the human variety.

This is the problem with conducting human experimentation—and this is why she doesn’t often do it (you know, besides tricky ethical decisions and such). Humans, and other intelligent beings, are entirely unpredictable. For instance, Entrapta ponders regretfully, if She-Ra happened to be a machine, she probably wouldn’t be reacting in such an illogical way.

But She-Ra, despite her many powers and eight foot tall stature, is regrettably, just a person.

And Entrapta’s experiment has gone very wrong indeed.

“Little sister.” She-Ra’s chest is heaving with exertion, her eyes wild and, inexplicably, green. “I told you to chart a course for Etheria. We’re going home.”

Reacting off adrenaline, fear, and relief, Entrapta calculates dimly. A perfect cocktail of bad decision making. Unfortunately, she’s long since discovered that people often don’t like it when you tell them that.

So instead, she swallows a lump of nerves, and steps forward, hair flicking nervously around her.”

“Uh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea, actually.” She-Ra’s eyes are unnerving as they follow her steps, the green glow appearing ghostly in the dim light.

Green. Why are they still green? The telepathic connection should have been severed with Horde Prime’s death. But no—his personal telepathic connection to the runestone would be severed. His wider telepathic network—the one through which she’s pretty sure he spreads his so-called ‘light’—would be far too large to flicker out in an instant. It would fade over time, probably the course of a few days. 

Which means as far as She-Ra is concerned, the light still exists. And now she’s watching Entrapta, eyes narrowed at her seemingly defiant words.

“Why not, little sister?” Her voice is soft, threatening. Clearly, Entrapta thinks, she’s picked up a thing or two from Horde Prime, probably without even realizing. 

“Um, because—” Reasons, she needs reasons. Preferably in layman’s terms. 

Oh well. When in doubt, she’ll do what she always does. Turn to data.

“Because your runestone is broken,” she blurts out, “and up until now, Horde Prime has kept it running by connecting you both to him and his network! Problem is, now that he’s, er, gone, you have nothing to help you maintain your She-Ra form. Unless you transform—”

“I don’t need to transform,” She-Ra interrupts, her expression hardening, her fists curling at her sides. She steps closer, towering over Entrapta, who unconsciously, takes a step back. “And I feel fine. In fact, I feel—” she pauses for a moment, considering, then smiles slowly, a smile so entirely reminiscent of the She-Ra Entrapta recognizes that it’s almost unnerving. “Better. Because I understand now.”

She cocks her head, studying Entrapta, and then her eyes move to the body on the floor, and she steps around Entrapta, brow furrowed.

“It was Horde Prime blocking me, wasn’t it?” she asks quietly. “His way is not the correct one. He is not the true bearer of the light.”

“Yeah, because nobody is!” Entrapta can’t resist saying. “She-Ra, what you’re feeling isn’t the light! It’s the remnants of his telepathic network, and once it fades, so will y—”

“Quiet!” She-Ra snaps, so suddenly that Entrapta does indeed stop talking, almost instantaneously. She-Ra looks up, studying her, then shakes her head.

“You don’t understand,” she says softly, and her voice is almost pitying. “Because you haven’t been brought to the light.” Then she smiles, and steps past Horde Prime’s body, towards Entrapta, who again finds herself taking a step back.

_But this is Adora_ , one part of her brain cries out, and then another, more logical part reminds her that it isn’t. Adora is in there somewhere—or so the data says—but this is Adora trapped in She-Ra’s body, enslaved to a network she believes to be her destiny. This is Adora with a good chunk of her memories gone, with her brains scrambled, with Horde Prime’s conditioning engraved into her neural network. At the moment, Entrapta isn’t talking to Adora. She’s talking to Horde Prime’s She-Ra, and if she wants any hope of bringing her friend back, then she’ll need to get her to transform, before Horde Prime’s telepathic network fades into oblivion.

Because once it fades, Entrapta is pretty sure that it’ll take She-Ra too.

“But, little sister—” She-Ra comes up close, and stretches out a hand to touch Entrapta gently on the shoulder. A gentle, almost friendly, touch. “You don’t have to worry. Once I conquer Etheria, and unite the entire planet under my light, I’ll bring you into it too. And then, you’ll underst—ow!”

She breaks off unexpectedly, her hand flying from Entrapta’s shoulder to her forehead, and Entrapta can only watch as she bends nearly double, her face contorted in pain.

“I—OW!” In that instant, she almost sounds like Adora, wincing from pain, but it’s She-Ra who drops bodily to her knees, She-Ra who nearly hits the floor, and Entrapta who, despite her better instincts, rushes to hold her up.

“Okay, my hypothesis is gaining more and more evidence!” She-Ra is about as heavy as her eight foot stature might suggest, and Entrapta needs the help of all her considerable hair just to keep her from sagging to the floor. “Subject appears to be wavering under the lack of a strong telepathic connection—”

“I am NOT wavering!” With a growl, She-Ra pushes herself to her feet, stumbling slightly, one hand still cupping her forehead. She rights herself, opens her mouth to speak, then shuts it and shakes her head. 

“I’m not wavering,” she mutters, seemingly to herself. “I still feel—I can feel—”

Then she blinks and looks up, her hand dropping away from her forehead. The green of her eyes flickers, and for just a second, Entrapta catches a familiar blue.

“Entrapta?” She-Ra blinks dazedly at her. “Where—”

Then she winces, eyes squeezing shut, and drops her head into her hand to massage her forehead.

“Adora?” Entrapta steps forward hesitantly. “Are you—”

Then She-Ra looks up, her eyes glowing green, her face cold as stone.

“I am fine,” she says curtly, and turns away, her teeth clenched as if she’s holding herself together by the seams. “Everything is fine. Didn’t I give you a command?”

“Uh—maybe,” Entrapta allows. “But, She-Ra! You have to listen to me! You can’t just invade Etheria—our friends live there!”

“And we will show them the light,” she replies icily, no give in her gaze at all. “You can’t understand now, little sister, but we’re doing them a favor. Once we—”

She cuts off once more and blinks hard, her gaze going unfocused, and Entrapta grabs her chance.

“She-Ra.” She steps forward, one hand out as if to touch her arm, though half of her is unsure if she should get too close. She-Ra seems to have picked up a few of Horde Prime’s authoritative responses, which Entrapta doesn’t find at all endearing. “You need to listen. The telepathic network is already fading. If you don’t change back and let me look at your runestone—”

“No.” She-Ra shakes her head, stepping back from Entrapta’s touch, but for just the briefest moments, she looks unsure. Then she shakes her head again, this time in irritation. “No. I know what I’m doing is right. I won’t be a failure. And I won’t let you stop me.”

“I’m not trying to—” Entrapta starts, only to be interrupted by the doors sliding open behind her. She spins around, clocks the appearance of two clones, and for the briefest moment wonders how they could possibly have been called without her notice, only to recall that, with Horde Prime gone, She-Ra’s telepathic connection is probably the strongest on the ship. Which means she probably controls every single clone.

Which means the results of Entrapta’s experiment are looking more and more dire by the second.

“Wait—!” Entrapta spins around, but she’s too late. The clones are behind her, and then they’re grabbing her underneath each arm, pulling her backwards despite how she struggles. “Wait—She-Ra! You know me! You have to trust me! The data says—”

“I do not have to listen to your data,” She-Ra says dismissively, and turns her back. “Little brothers, take her to a holding cell, then set course for Etheria. We will bring the light with or without her help.”

“No! She-Ra—!” But She-Ra isn’t listening. Entrapta, desperate and out of options, glances pleadingly at the two clones, but they might as well be stone. They only drag her backwards, towards the looming doors.

But her hands are free, though they have her arms, and though the clones might be like ice, they aren’t, Entrapta thinks, all that smart. So carefully, fingers trembling only slightly with panic, she stretches her hands to her pockets, and rummages for a solution.

She doesn’t find one. There’s no communicator chip, only a few bits and bobs, a couple of tools. But those could be enough. Her tape recorder, Entrapta knows, could be retrofitted to send signals. The bits and bobs in her pockets—well, they might not be enough to build a new communicator, but they’ll have to do the job anyway. She has no choice. She has to warn her friends as soon as possible. Even if Catra doesn’t want her to.

Their lives are at stake. Surely, Catra will understand.

The last thing she sees, when she glances up just as the clones drag her through the doors, is She-Ra, standing at Horde Prime’s chair. She reaches out to touch the armrest, almost hesitantly, then turns and seats herself, her posture stiff and uncertain, like a child trying out their father’s chair. She doesn’t look entirely comfortable, but after a moment, she leans back, hands resting lightly upon the arms.

A ruler, in name and fashion. Entrapta swallows hard at the sight, her heart sinking to her stomach, and then she’s out and into the hallway, the doors slamming shut behind her.

And She-Ra on the other side, the new tyrant of the universe.

—————

“Catra! Come quick!”

“What?” Groggily, Catra sits straight up in bed, only to wince and clap a hand to her forehead at the head rush that follows. Blinking, she twists around and squints at the doorway.

“Glimmer? What the hell are you—”

“There’s a briefing in five minutes.” Glimmer doesn’t wait, but chucks Catra her own clothes, clearly pilfered from her drawers. “Get dressed. Quick.”

Her voice is carefully restrained, enough to tell Catra that something is seriously, seriously wrong. 

“Briefing?” Catra, for her part, tries to keep her own burgeoning panic under control as she scrambles to her feet, clothes in hand. “But it’s the middle of the night! I thought that was tomorrow!”

“Emergency briefing.” In the dim square of light from the hallway, it’s enough to make out Glimmer’s hard expression, her lips pressed flat together and her eyes giving nothing but the barest hint of worry away. “My dad called it. He hasn’t told me exactly what’s going on, but—”

She breaks off, biting her lip, and that’s enough to tell Catra the story. People don’t generally call emergency briefings for anything good, which means this can only be something very bad.

She’s not sure she wants to hear it. Then again, she doesn’t have a choice.

“Okay. Give me five minutes,” she tells Glimmer, who gives a curt nod, then retreats into the hallway, slamming the door behind her. Catra can hear her footsteps receding into the distance, hurried and loud, as if she’s just barely preventing herself from running. Or teleporting.

It takes Catra two minutes, not five, to dress. It takes her another three to get to the briefing room, where the others are already gathered, or mostly. Ones and twos are still trickling in, some in pajamas, most dressed, others in some halfway state. All look tired. All look nervous.

Once the majority have arrived, King Micah gives a nod to Glimmer, who closes the door, then turns to the crowd.

“Hello, everyone,” he says, his tone solemn. “I’m sorry to call this briefing at such a late hour. However, I considered it necessary, considering the intelligence we have just received.”

“What intelligence?” somebody asks at the back of the room, and King Micah’s eyes flicker to them, before he turns to the display behind him. It only takes him a few waves of his hand to bring up a shifting, holographic image of Etheria.

“Roughly half an hour ago, our detection systems received warning of ships entering orbit around Etheria.” He flicks his hand again, and green dots of light start to appear around the planet, first one, then two, then several, then an innumerable amount.

Catra’s heart sinks, right to her toes. Then it starts to pound, battering her ribcage fast enough to slice her air in two. She can feel the question in the room, the sinking dread, and simultaneously wants to hear it out loud, hear the answer confirmed, or run until she can’t make out a word.

“They could be ships from a neighboring planet,” someone calls weakly, and Catra almost laughs out loud.

A neighboring planet, bringing an armada with no warning. It’s about as likely as as the sky caving in, which coincidentally, would probably be easier to deal with than whatever’s happening in their orbit.

But King Micah gives a solemn shake of his head, and twists his hands toward the display. Immediately, one of the green dots enlarges, transforming into a picture. 

“Myself and a few other sorcerers managed to cast a spell strong enough to gather visual imagery,” he says, and doesn’t have to explain. Because the image is billowing across the display, taking up its entirety, and it’s impossible to mistake.

Horde Prime’s mothership, in all its ugly glory, is floating high above their heads.

There’s an audible gasp across the room. Nearby, Catra hears Bow whisper what might be the first curse she’s ever heard him utter. Near King Micah, Glimmer’s composed expression has collapsed inward—though she’s standing stock still, Catra can just barely make out the trembling of her lip, the near panic in her eyes.

“Round two,” somebody mutters behind Catra, and somebody else concurs.

“We didn’t even win the last time,” somebody says, and then another person chimes in:

“Yeah, and now they’ve got She-Ra!”

This brings another round of whispers, and Catra nearly snaps. Her fists tighten, claws sliding out, and she bows her head, forcing herself not to lose her temper.

Not here. Not now. Not when Adora’s life hangs in the balance, along with all their own. 

She doesn’t know what to do. But that doesn’t mean she’s going to gamble it all away now.

The whispers are growing louder, rowdier, morphing into full-on panic.

“If we had to retreat the last time—”

“Not a single planet has survived her—”

“We don’t have enough technology—”

“She was supposed to be on our side—”

“Enough!” 

King Micah’s voice echoes across the room, loud enough silence the whispers and turn every head to the front of the room. As they do, Catra can’t help but risk a glance behind her, just to gauge the room. What she sees doesn’t look good; it’s a mess of panic and fear, uncomfortable shifting and exchanged glances.

The entire room, she realizes, thinks their about to die. And Catra isn’t even sure they’re wrong.

“Enough,” King Micah repeats, his hands held up, palms out. “We need to be calm in the face of this threat, people. We have enough on our plates without devolving into panic. What we’re going to do is plan, and think, and face this like adults. Because that’s what we are. Er—” he glances towards Frosta— “for the most part.”

Catra glances around the room again, and watches people set back on their heels, looking appropriately abashed. A few exchange embarrassed glances, while the rest refocus their attention on King Micah.

Except for Bow. Bow, although not making a sound, has his head down and his eyes on a device in his hand that Catra can’t see, fingers flying as he fiddles with what has to be buttons.

Then, as Catra watches, his fingers go still and his eyes widen, until they’re round as saucers.

“Bow?” With a sidelong glance to the front of the room, where King Micah has begun to talk about strategy, Catra edges over to Bow, who doesn’t even look up. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh—” Bow has gone considerably pale, his eyes wide as if he’s seen a ghost. He stares at the device in his hand—the small light upon it quietly flashing—then looks up, and focuses dazedly on Catra.

“I—” He swallows hard, then holds up the device. “I made this in case I missed a message. You know, from Entrapta.” His fingers go over the flashing light. “And I just—just got one. Right now.”

“What?” Catra’s heart stops, right there. She’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. She’s not sure she wants to hear whatever it is Entrapta has to say, not with no word and half a billion ships hanging over their heads.

Not to mention, she knows something Bow doesn’t know.

In the time it takes these thoughts to flash through Catra’s head, Bow’s gaze has fallen back to the device. As she watches, his expression firms, and he looks up, one hand rising into the air.

Oh no. Oh no. With a swallowed curse, Catra acts fast.

“C’mon,” she hisses, and grabs Bow by the arm, ignoring his muffled cry—lost in King Micah’s speech—to drag him towards the door. It only takes a moment, and she doesn’t even bother to check if anybody watches them leave. She doesn’t have time. Instead, she just pulls him through, leaving the doors to swing shut behind them.

And of course, they don’t.

“Where are you guys going?” Glimmer’s brow is furrowed in suspicion as she slides through the half-closed door, catching it as it closes to shut it softly. “Guys, this briefing is impor—”

“I got a message from Entrapta!” Bow bursts out, not even bothering to whisper, and Catra has to bite down on another curse.

“Yeah,” she manages through gritted teeth. “He did.”

“You did?” Glimmer’s eyes light up, her gaze falling immediately to the communicator in his hands. “What did she say?”

“I haven’t listened yet,” Bow says, then frowns and glances toward Catra. “Catra, uh, dragged me out here.”

“What? Why?” Glimmer turns towards her as well, confusion writ across her face. “Catra, whatever Entrapta’s saying is important for all of us!”

“Yeah, or could cause mass panic if it’s not what we want to hear,” Catra shoots back quickly. She’s always been good with excuses, especially on short notice. “Wouldn’t you rather break whatever Entrapta has to say gently? Considering she hasn’t contacted us in—what? Five? Six days?”

“Uh—” Glimmer opens her mouth, then shuts it again. “Okay, that actually makes sense. Maybe you’re right.”

“Uh, yeah,” Catra responds in slight surprise. “I mean, of course. Better we listen to it out here.”

“Okay, but can we actually listen to it?” Bow cuts in impatiently. “Instead of, you know, standing around?”

“Of course.” Glimmer turns immediately towards Bow before Catra can jump in, and nods toward the device. “What does it say?”

Bow sags, visibly relieved. “I don’t know yet. I mean, I got the message telling us to contact her. But she hasn’t said anything. Might not have wanted to have it intercepted.”

“Yeah, well, good for her,” Catra replies. It’s a tad short, and she can tell immediately that the others have noticed, but she doesn’t care. The nerves are getting to her, turning her skin itchy and her ears twitchy, and all she wants to do is take the news before it hits. Which could happen, if they would just _contact_ her already. “Can we please just get this over with?”

“Yeah, c’mon!” Glimmer urges, and Bow immediately complies, spinning a dial on his device that sends a crackle of static through the air. It takes him a minute of fiddling—or an eternity, it feels like—to find the correct station, but at last he presses a button and holds out the device, rocking back on his heels.

“There,” he says. “Now, whenever she’s ready, we should—”

“Hello? Hello? Is anybody receiving?”

“Entrapta!” Bow practically yells, and Catra winces, glancing towards the door. Luckily, nobody else is in the hallway, nor does anybody in the briefing room seem to notice—nobody comes barging through. “Are you okay?”

“In a physical sense, yes!” comes Entrapta’s normally chipper voice. At the moment, however, there’s a decided edge of low-level panic cutting through her usual cheer. Despite her perkiness, Catra can practically sense the strain underneath. “In a more realistic sense, probably not. See, I’m in a holding cell—”

Bow and Glimmer glance to each other worriedly. 

“—and while I haven’t been able to track our pattern of flight through more sophisticated means, my rudimentary measures have told me we’re in orbit above Etheria.”

Bow and Glimmer exchange another glance. By this point, Catra notices, they’ve started to go a little green around the gills, and on any other occasion she might have teased them, only she’s pretty sure she’s looking the same herself.

Then Glimmer leans in to the device. “Entrapta, what happened? Did Horde Prime put you there?”

“What? No, I—” There’s a crackle of static, and her voice wavers, then fades out, breaking into snatches.

“—dead. Can you hear me? Are you getting this?”

“Yes!” Bow leans in eagerly, his face drawn up in panic, and Catra, despite her own dread, leans in as well, so close their heads are practically touching. “We can hear you, Entrapta! Say that again, please!”

“—hear me?”

“We can hear you!” Catra cuts in impatiently, and she’s almost sure the others can hear her hear pounding against her ribcage, her blood roaring in her ears. “Entrapta, tell us again! Who’s dead? It’s not—”

And then she fades in again, her voice clipped with impatience.

“—what I said, if you didn’t hear. Horde Prime is dead.”

Her voice goes quiet then, as if waiting for a response. Nobody gives her one. Instead, one by one, they raise their heads, and look at each other in utter, dreadful confusion.

“Hello? Are you still there?” Entrapta’s voice sounds again after several seconds of pause. “You guys? Did you hear me?”

It’s Bow who finds his voice first. “We heard you, Entrapta.” His voice has gone deadly quiet, something undecipherable on his face. “Can you explain that, please? How can he be dead?”

There’s another burst of static, loud enough to fill their ears.

“—killed him. She-Ra killed him. Did you get that?”

“Yeah. We did.” Bow, in what might be shock, has gone utterly quiet. So too have Catra and Glimmer, unable even to summon a word. Catra can only settle back on her heels, strange confusion swirling in her gut. It’s not even elation, not yet, because it doesn’t make sense. Because if Horde Prime is dead, then how can—how can—

“Entrapta?” Catra suddenly leans forward, balancing on the soles of her feet.

“Catra? Hi!” 

“Hi,” Catra says, then brushes past the greeting before she can respond. “I don’t understand. You said ships are above Etheria. But why would you be here if Horde Prime is dead? And why the hell would you bring the whole fleet?”

Because that doesn’t make sense either. Entrapta in a holding cell—the entire fleet above their heads—Horde Prime dead. None of it is adding together, and the thought makes her stomach churn with dread.

But at this, Entrapta seems to go quiet. For a long moment, she doesn’t answer, and there’s only the low crackle of static.

“Well, uh, that’s the thing,” she says, and she almost sounds apologetic. “See, when She-Ra started asking questions—well, I thought it was a good sign. Only I couldn’t predict—”

“What, Entrapta.” Catra leans forward, her voice a growl, her heart thumping. “What didn’t you expect.”

On the other end, there’s a deep, fortifying breath.

“When She-Ra killed him, she didn’t turn back into Adora like I expected. It seems there’s some leftover effect from the telepathic network that has implanted deeper than I expected, and—”

“Entrapta.” This is Bow, his voice deadly serious. “Where is Adora?”

“Oh, uh.” An audible gulp. “Adora is, uh, as She-Ra, uh—the new leader of the Horde.”

Silence. In it, Catra can hear her heart slamming against her ribcage, her breathing turning noisy with panic. Her throat clogs up with it, and she wants to suck in a breath, but can’t even open her mouth. 

_Oh, Adora._ She squeezes her eyes shut, feels tears start to gather. _Of all the times to think you’re special_ —

In the silence, Entrapta starts to chatter, nervous and high-pitched. “I tried to reason with her, but she had me thrown in a holding cell, which is where I’ve been, and I’ve only just managed to put together a communication device. I’ve been trying to talk to the guards, trying to explain that she has to transform back into Adora to sever the telepathic connection, but obviously nobody listens to me. And speaking of, Catra, I’m really sorry about this because I know we made a deal last time we talked, but I thought it was important enough—”

Without warning, Catra lunges for the device and slams the button, hard enough to break it. In fact, the button snaps off cleanly, bouncing to the floor, and the second it does, so too does Entrapta’s voice snap off into nothing, not even static staying on the line.

But it’s too late. When Catra straightens, both Glimmer and Bow are staring at her, horrified betrayal plastered across their faces.

“Catra.” Glimmer’s gaze hurts the worst, maybe because she’s the one who’s taken Catra’s scratches and her anger and her insults all with a brave face. “Did you know about this?”

“I—” Catra opens her mouth, shuts it, then swallows hard. “I—”

She can’t answer. She can’t. So she does one of the things she’s clearly best at, and turns to run.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the slight lateness! We're getting closer to the climax, or more like half climax, since we still have all the hurt/comfort after it. but ye, I hope you enjoy! thank you for reading.

Catra runs.

Behind her, she can hear Bow’s footsteps, but she’s faster than him—she’s always been faster than him. Speed has always won her out where strength fails her, and she uses it now, gaining as much ground as she can from the people she’s called her friends but who she’s betrayed once more.

Just like she betrayed Adora. And she ran then, too.

“Catra!” Bow calls, and Catra doesn’t look around, doesn’t even slow. “Catra—”

“STOP!” With a flash of magic in the air, Glimmer sparks into existence right in front of her. It’s too sudden; Catra can’t stop. Instead, she goes flying right into her, and they tumble to the ground together, a tangle of limbs and curses and hair.

“Get off me!” Catra yells, and she tries to push her away, but Glimmer, to her credit, acts fast, reaching up to snag her wrist.

“No!” She’s angry now, really angry, possibly angrier than Catra has ever heard her, and that’s saying a lot. “Catra, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Did you know Etheria was going to be attacked?”

“No!” Catra retorts immediately, but that’s a lie, and she’s supposed to be better than that, except clearly she’s not. Behind her, the distant slam of a door echoes, but she ignores it. “I mean—I didn’t know they were coming now! I knew there were plans, but I wasn’t going to let you hurt her!”

“We won’t hurt her!” Bow’s footsteps slide to a stop behind her, and a hand comes out to touch her shoulder, but she flinches away. “Catra, do you really think we stand a chance against She-Ra?”

“She’s _not_ She-Ra!” Catra whips around, a hiss building in her throat. “She’s Adora! How can you forget that? How can you pretend to be her friends when—when—”

Bow and Glimmer together take a step back, eyes widening in surprise. 

“Catra, we haven’t forgotten,” Bow says, his voice choked with what might be hurt. Betrayal flashes in his eyes, and Catra wants to take a step back, to run and hide, but Glimmer has her by the wrist. “How can you think that? But—”

“—if we’re all dead because She-Ra kills us, we’ll never be able to help her!” Glimmer bursts out, and Catra flinches at the stark honesty of it. “Catra, I know you’re hurting, but we’re all hurting! Why can’t you see that?”

“Because—” Because they can’t be. It doesn’t make sense. Because if they were hurting like Catra, they wouldn’t be able to lock Adora away in a ‘to deal with later’ box, and they wouldn’t be able to talk about her like she’s a threat, rather than their friend. They would be—breaking, like she is. Bits and pieces of them scattered across the floor, for the whole world to see.

They would be lying, and running, and hiding, because isn’t that what people do when they’re hurt?

“Because you don’t—” She has no answer for them, or at least, no answer that they want to hear. She doesn’t even know the answer herself, if she’s being honest. She’s supposed to be better than this. She’s supposed to be helping, not hiding. Cooperating, not lying. 

But when it comes to Adora, it seems like all rational thought goes out the window.

Glimmer and Bow are staring at her, their gazes demanding an answer, and she hesitates, hesitates, hesitates—and sags in defeat.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and it’s hard to say, but even harder to admit, with it, that she can’t fight back. That they are right, in some way. If she wants to help Adora, she’ll have to work with the Rebellion. Even if working with the Rebellion means that she might be fighting Adora herself.

When, Catra wonders desperately, did it all get so tangled?

_Probably_ , a cruel voice at the back of her head says, _when you left Adora at the Heart in the first place._

“Catra—” Glimmer reaches out, almost sympathetically, but Catra flinches away. She can’t help it. It’s almost worse, the sympathy and the understanding, than it is the hurt and the anger. Pain and rage and betrayal, she understands. Forgiveness? Not so much.

“Don’t,” she mutters with her head down. “You don’t have to. I—I shouldn’t have lied.”

“Yeah, we could have used the intel,” Bow says, but his tone is more kind than accusatory, and when she looks up, she sees, against all odds, forgiveness in his eyes too. 

They really are idiots, one part of her realizes, but the rest of her doesn’t care. She’s only relieved, despite the dread and fear coiling at the bottom of her stomach.

Maybe she really doesn’t have to do this alone.

“Yeah,” she manages, and looks up at Bow, a half-smile forming on her lips, only for it to drop away completely at the sight behind him.

King Micah takes one final step forward and stops, laying a protective hand on Glimmer’s shoulder.

“You were shouting right outside the briefing room,” he says, his eyes moving from Glimmer, to Bow, to at last, Catra. “I had to come outside to check.”

His gaze is sharp, and entirely serious. She looks into it, and her heart sinks.

“Dad—” Glimmer twists around to face him, but King Micah only gives her a slight shake of his head before his eyes refocus on Catra. In them, she sees none of the forgiveness that Bow and Glimmer wore.

In fact, there’s not even anger. Only disappointment, dismal and deep, and that’s even worse.

Catra sucks in a breath, and when she swallows, feels no saliva move down her throat. Her heart is beating fast, and she can feel her cards tumbling from her hands before she even lays them down. “Let me guess. You—”

“Heard.” He nods. “Or at least, enough to get the gist.”

His eyes, it feels like, are boring right into Catra’s soul. She wants to look away, wants, as usual, to run, but she’s not sure she can, and not even on account of sorcery. Rather, King Micah, despite the fact that he’s only newly a father, seems to have perfected the kind of parental stare that even Shadow Weaver never quite mastered. 

She doesn’t like it at all.

“Dad—” Glimmer’s voice holds a warning. “Catra can explain—”

“I’d rather she not, actually.” King Micah’s voice is hard as flint. His eyes, Catra realizes suddenly, have slipped from parental disappointment to cold authority, as if he’s just been reminded of what’s at stake. “There’s no need. We’ve just received reports that the ships are starting to descend. Within a day, they should be here, which means we have less than that to throw up whatever defenses we can.”

“But King Micah—” Bow turns too, urgency overriding any deference to authority. “Wait a minute! She-Ra is the one leading the ships, and we can’t—”

“Bow.” King Micah’s voice is strained. “I know that you all have a close friendship to Adora. And we will do anything to help her. But right now, I have to be a leader. And we’re not facing your friend. We’re facing She-Ra, not to mention the entirety of the Horde, and at the moment, I have to do whatever I can to save us from destruction.”

“So let me help.” Catra steps forward, forcing her shoulders square and her head high. It’s more than she wants to do, especially with the words King Micah is spewing. “I know Adora better than anyone. I can—”

“You just admitted that you’ve committed treason.” King Micah’s eyes swoop over her, entirely unsympathetic. Catra opens her mouth in surprise, her eyes narrowing, then forces herself to bite back a sharp retort.

“Maybe I did,” she says, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t use me. We can work something out. We can—”

But behind King Micah, more and more people are filing out into the hallway. Whispering, casting curious looks. Wondering, and waiting, and Catra has no idea how much they know, but she can see their presence working on King Micah, like stones weighing upon his back.

“King Micah—” She takes another step forward, and wishes that she had something, anything, that could prove the honesty behind her words. An uncheckered history, or a palatable personality, or even as easy smile. Something.

She’s always been good at worming her way into survival, but she’s also pretty good at getting booted out.

King Micah hesitates. Actually hesitates. She can see him thinking it over in his head, wrestling with the decision. Weighing her friendship with the others versus the fate of Etheria.

Then somebody Catra doesn’t recognize steps up behind King Micah, and pauses uncertainly.

“King Micah? We’re waiting to know what we should do.”

King Micah sucks in a breath, and that’s when Catra knows he’s decided.

“Alright.” He lets the breath out in a low sigh, then turns. “I need two guards to escort her to a holding cell. The rest of you, go back to the briefing. We’ll continue discussing things there. That includes you, Glimmer, and Bow. We need any new intelligence you might have.”

“But, Dad—!” Glimmer lunges forward and catches him by the sleeve. “You can’t—what if she can help us?”

“By sitting on new intelligence she hasn’t bothered to share?” King Micah shoots her a look, then sighs and rubs his palm over her face. “I’m sorry, dear. But we don’t have time to deal with treason on top of a planetary threat. Not today, and not tomorrow—if there’s going to be a tomorrow.”

Behind Catra, she can hear the footsteps of the guards, and she tenses to run, then remembers that will only dig herself deeper. Instead she stands there, paralyzed in indecision, as Glimmer begs uselessly for her freedom. 

“But—” Glimmer tries again, but Catra can already see it’s not going to work.

“Glimmer,” she says quietly, and at the same time feels the hands of the guards on her arms, but doesn’t pull away. “It’s fine.”

“But Catra—” Glimmer spins around, only to stop at Catra’s minuscule shake of her head. King Micah is already turning away, and Bow stands torn, caught between friendship and duty.

“I guess I’ll just stay there until someone gets me out, huh?” she says softly, so soft it travels no further than Glimmer and Bow’s ears. Their eyes widen, and then they understand.

“Oh, yeah.” Bow nods quickly. “Of course.”

“Yeah.” Glimmer shifts, then glances back to her dad, just as the guards yank Catra backwards. “And Catra…I’m sorry.”

Catra only smiles, with a slight wince as one of the guards grabs her arm. “Don’t worry, Sparkles. I’m plenty sorry for the both of us.”

—————

The chair is not comfortable, but She-Ra sits upon it anyway.

It hasn’t grown any more comfortable in the days after Horde Prime’s death, even after she’d cleared away his body and mopped up the blood and otherwise cleansed the room of any trace. There’s nothing now to remind of his presence, but his spectre lingers, raising goosebumps on the back of her neck.

She can’t feel him. Not at all. Some part of her wonders if she ought to be sad, if she ought to be mourning, but she can’t summon any such feeling within her. She feels only relief, and a responsibility so heavy it threatens to crush her.

There’s another thing she hadn’t accounted upon, once she’d taken the chair. 

It’s lonely.

She has nobody to talk to, not even the annoying woman or the other clones, who only scrape and bow and otherwise slide out of her presence as if in fear of getting hurt. For the last five days, other than giving orders, she’s sat alone, nothing to do but to think.

She doesn’t want to think. Thinking is a dangerous pastime, Horde Prime had always told her, and even if it wasn’t, she finds that it opens up doors she’s not sure she always wants to walk through.

The more she thinks, the more she remembers. Not everything—Horde Prime has relieved her, she’s pretty sure, of a good chunk of her past life—but there are things that persist, despite how she squeezes her eyes shut and winces away and pretends that all is as it should be.

She remembers a girl with a sharp-toothed smile and eyes sparking with mischief. She remembers a kind boy and a smiling girl with pink hair, and she remembers—

She remembers battlefields. She remembers standing in fields of the dead, her hands soaked with blood, the dirt and mud squelching through the soles of her shoes. She remembers how it feels to kill, and hunt, and conquer. 

She remembers so much death, and it’s all her fault, and it shouldn’t bother her, but it does.

“Older sister.” She-Ra jerks out of her reverie as a clone approaches, immediately prostrating himself before her. “We are ready to descend.”

“We are?” She-Ra blinks, then remembers that she’s supposed to be commanding, not questioning. “I mean—good. Ready the ships.”

“Yes, older sister.” The clone dips his head, then looks up at her hesitantly. “Would you like to give the command?”

“I—” The answer should be yes. This is all she’s wanted, ever since she came into the light. The glory of spreading it, the peace that will come to her—

_Friends—_

She jerks away from the thought, fingers curling around the armrests.

“Not yet,” she says, and rises in one swift movement, forcing the clone to cringe away from her, though she’s not sure why. She’s never raised a finger to them, not like Horde Prime had done so many times to her. “I have to see someone.”

“Yes, Lorde She-Ra.” The clone bows his head, then scrambles backwards and out of her way. She-Ra doesn’t give him a second glance as she passes by, but instead makes a beeline straight for the door, and out into the hallway.

She finds the woman exactly where she expected her—in a holding cell which, she’s pretty sure, once held a young Queen whose face she almost remembers. The woman, as She-Ra swipes the door, immediately looks up, jamming something into her pocket.

“She-Ra!” she cries, her eyes flicking to the door as if she expects more guards to follow. “Are you—uh—hi!”

She-Ra doesn’t immediately answer. Instead she just eyes her, a frown upon her face as she tries to figure out the question sitting in her head.

“We knew each other before the light,” she says at last, and as she says it, she has a dim memory of another conversation, one abruptly ended by the clap of Horde Prime’s hand against her temple, the utter demolition of her own memories.

How much, she wonders, has he taken from her?

The woman gapes in surprise. Then, she slams her mouth shut and nods.

“Yes, we did,” she says, and her eyes roam over She-Ra, glimmering with some strange hope. “Do you remember?”

“I—” She-Ra hesitates, then shakes her head. “No. I have no need to remember anything before the light. I was only…”

Curious, perhaps, but why should she be curious? Why should she care about this woman at all? The woman means nothing to She-Ra. The only thing She-Ra cares about is her coming victory, the planet that will soon be brought into the light. Nothing more.

“I need help,” she says firmly, the words slipping from her mouth before she knows what to do with them. At this, the woman’s face lights up in a way She-Ra can only describe as ‘painfully hopeful’.

“I can help!” she crows, and leaps to her feet, crossing the room to pull up directly in front of She-Ra. She cranes her neck back, and her eyes land upon the runestone, lingering for a moment before coming up to meet her gaze. “What’s your problem?”

She-Ra hesitates, suddenly indecisive. She shouldn’t be talking to this woman, she knows. She’s not part of the light, and therefore, she is ignorant. Not to mention, her opinions and ideas of what is right often differ wildly from what She-Ra knows to be true.

But she has helped She-Ra before. So maybe she can help her again.

“The flashes have not disappeared,” she surrenders at last, shoulders sagging slightly with the admission. “The memories and dreams…they still bother me. Why is that?”

The woman’s eyes widen, and something close to a smile creeps across her face. “Because, She-Ra, those weren’t caused by Horde Prime! Those were your own memories breaking through, despite his telepathic connection and your runestone!”

Then her smile disappears, and she reaches out to poke She-Ra’s runestone before She-Ra can pull away.

“But—” she says, then looks up at She-Ra, her eyes turning worried. “Are they getting worse?”

“Uh—” Briefly, She-Ra considers lying. It would be easy. It would avoid the problem she’s now facing, except she’s not sure it actually would. She wants the flashes gone, after all. And the woman seems to know about them.

“Yes,” she admits, and the woman’s brow wrinkles in dismay.

“Oh, that’s not good,” she mutters, her finger tracing briefly over the runestone before drawing away. “Not good at all. You see, She-Ra, it’s exactly what I said! The telepathic network is fading. Soon, it’ll dissolve completely, and once it does—”

She shakes her head and snaps her fingers. “No more She-Ra.”

She-Ra stares at her. Dimly, at the base of her skull, she can feel the familiar start of a headache, the memories creeping in. Haunting, telling. Whispering at the back of her mind.

“That can’t be,” she says, struggling to think through the slow whirlpool of forming confusion. “You’re wrong. I have never felt stronger. I’m not—”

“Having doubts?” The woman steps forward, her eyes large and entirely sympathetic. Her mouth turns down, and her gaze roams over She-Ra, her expression close enough to disappointment that She-Ra has to resist the urge to cringe.

“Why are you doing this, Adora?” she asks, her tone quiet and pleading. “You’re not under Horde Prime’s control anymore. Why do you want to keep destroying like he did?”

“I—I—” Because she doesn’t know what else to do. Because she has to do something, or she’ll be a failure. Because if she failed Etheria before, she can’t fail it now, or she’ll—she’ll— “It’s my destiny.”

The woman gives a sad shake of her head. “It’s not your destiny. Maybe I don’t have the data to back it up, but I do know that.”

“No, you don’t,” She-Ra snaps, and takes a step back. She’s trembling slightly, she realizes in a distant sort of way, and she can’t tell whether it’s a result of the woman’s words or the memories seeping into the back of her skull. “You can’t know that. You don’t understand the light, or—or—”

“I understand that you’re going to die if you don’t transform back to Adora.” The woman sets her jaw stubbornly, and crosses her arms. “She-Ra, it’s your life at stake! Shouldn’t you be worried about that?”

“I—” The woman doesn’t understand, She-Ra decides with slight panic. She can’t. She doesn’t understand the light, and now she’s forcing She-Ra on the spot, forcing her to confront her own failures and fear and all the things she can’t look directly in the eye.

“I know what I’m doing,” she snaps, and forces herself to straighten, forces herself to calm. There’s a pain in her chest, centered right at her runestone, and maybe she’s imagining things, but she can’t help but feel as if it’s growing. “And I’m going to take over Etheria. I’m going to bring the light, and you won’t stop me.”

And with that, before the woman can respond, She-Ra turns and swipes the door open, diving back out into the hallway. Memories and uncertainties are snapping at her mind, but she only cringes away and pulls herself to full height.

“She-Ra!” The woman presses against the thing green screen, her eyes wide with worry. “Please—it’ll kill you!”

She-Ra doesn’t listen. She only turns down the hallway and moves off, shoulders hunched, forcing herself to ignore the cries behind her.

“It’ll kill you! Adora—please!”

She-Ra squeezes her eyes shut, then presses a finger to her temple, and sends out a telepathic message.

“Brothers, ready the ships. It is time.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! as usual, back with an update and we are like. so close. so close. i dont want to ruin anything but yeah. anyway, thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos, i really appreciate them!

It’s not a bad cell, as all things go. More of a room than a cell, and there’s a bed in the corner, even an empty dresser. Catra, as she curls up on the bare mattress, can’t help but suspect that they’ve only thrown her into the smallest room available.

Ridiculous. Even faced with treason, the princesses are too damn nice.

For a brief moment after they throw her in there, she considers fighting back. Attacking the guards, or throwing her body against the door—anything. Something that will release the pent up energy in her gut, and something that will feel, in any sense but useful, like she’s fighting back.

But she can’t fight the whole Rebellion, and she’s not so stupid to think she should try. She’s made her dumb decision; now it’s time to hope Glimmer and Bow will make their own. 

Maybe, just maybe, they’ll prove that they meant all those times they said they were her friends.

In the meantime, with nothing left to do, Catra curls up on her bed and waits. She doesn’t sleep—she doesn’t think she can, at this point. Instead, her thoughts run in endless circles, biting back bitter memories and every dumb choice she’s made up to this point. Leaving Adora to face the heart alone; not jumping in to help sooner; lying about the potential invasion, which materialized into a real invasion far faster than she could have predicted. 

Most of all, she just wishes that she could apologize, though she’s not even sure to whom. To Adora? To Bow and Glimmer? To King Micah? To herself? Or even all of the above, and beyond, every person she’s hurt and everyone she’s ever been mean to? Sometimes, Catra feels like the list is going to crush her. Sometimes, with the current situation, she feels like she might not survive long enough to find out.

She doesn’t know what to do to help Adora. It’s the truth, and it hurts on the way out. She doesn’t want to believe that Adora’s beyond her reach, but she doesn’t know how to help her, either—and maybe she never has. After all, all she’s ever done is hurt her; how can she possibly be expected to know how to do a one-eighty?

And she has to try, but she doesn’t even know how to do that. She doesn’t know what words are supposed to bring Adora back from the brink, and she doesn’t even know if she’s the right one to say them. She can fight, tooth and claw, and she’s good at it, but she has a feeling that’s not going to help.

And so it goes. Catra’s thoughts run in circles, no end in sight, and she too remains curled upon the bed, huddled against a slight chill as she tries not to fall apart. She can’t afford it, not now, not in the zero hour. Not when everything is falling to pieces around her.

All she can do is close her eyes, and for the first time in her life, trust.

—————

“We have to break her out.”

Bow looks up from the chair he’s perched upon, his communication device in hand. They’re both in the briefing room, which has long since cleared out. Now, only the two remain behind, Glimmer poring distractedly over charts and reports, as Bow tries to put together the piece Catra broke off in her hasty attempt to shut Entrapta up.

“Glimmer, I think—” Bow says, then hesitates. Then he sighs, and drops his head. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know. I just think—”

“That my dad was right?” She looks up, pinning him with the kind of glare she’d picked up from her mother. It works, or at least partly; Bow shrinks back, then straightens and sucks in a breath.

“No,” he says firmly, enough to tell Glimmer that he at least partially means it. “I do trust Catra. But Glimmer—she did lie to us. And I agree about breaking her out, but do you really think this is the right time?” He waves a hand in the air. “I mean, first we have to survive an invasion!”

“Yeah, but Catra could help us!” Glimmer insists, though even she’s not entirely sure. But then, she’s not sure any of them can help, not at this point, and besides—she owes Catra one.

At the very least, she knows how it feels to make a mistake trying to protect her friends. It’s not a stretch to understand Catra’s point of view.

Bow pauses, eyebrow raised, the crosses his arms. “Okay. How?”

“Uh—she—” If Glimmer is being honest, she doesn’t entirely know. And Bow has a point—they should be helping raise defenses, not trying to break a traitor out of prison. 

“She’s a great fighter,” she dredges up at last, and at Bow’s unconvinced look, hurries to add, “and she’s fought She-Ra more than the rest of us combined. She’ll know her weaknesses. She could stop her, maybe.”

“You think Catra will fight her?” Bow asks doubtfully, and Glimmer only nods.

“If we can, she can.”

It’s not much in the way of an argument, but it’s all she has. At the very least, however, it seems to be slightly working. Bow tilts his head in consideration; his hands loosen from the device.

And then the device, without warning, beeps. Loudly.

Bow starts, nearly drops the device from his hands, but manages to snag it just in time. For a moment he stares, as does Glimmer, until another loud beep brings them back to their senses.

“Entrapta!” Quickly, Bow thumbs the button to open communications. For one long second, as usual, static fills the air, and then a frantic voice filters through.

“Guys? Hello? I got cut off last time—can you hear me?”

Bow passes Glimmer a tentatively hopeful glance as he responds. “We can hear you. Sorry about that, Entrapta. Are you okay?”

“Oh, me? I’m fine! You guys, however, might be having a problem.”

Bow’s eyes widen; this time, the glance he sends to Glimmer is edged with panic. “What kind of a problem?”

“Uh—” Entrapta’s voice drops for a second, almost as if she’s reluctant, then takes on a decidedly frantic tone. “Okay, here’s the thing. She-Ra is ready to invade Etheria, which is bad news. The good news is, she’s not as strong as she thinks she is. Bad news about that is, it’s because she’s dying. So—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Glimmer rushes close to the device, close enough that Entrapta can catch her voice. “Entrapta, what? What do you mean, dying?”

They wait in heart-pounding tension for a long second before she responds. In the silence, Glimmer can hear the thrum of her own heart, seemingly deafening.

“She-Ra is _dying_ ,” Entrapta repeats slowly, as if to children, but even through the patronizing tone the panic and fear is evident. “You see, when she killed Horde Prime, she severed the entire telepathic network of the Horde. Well, severed is a strong word. What she actually did was more like untethering it, which means that for the moment, it’s tuned to her. But it was never made to work for her, so right now it’s unraveling at the edges, and it’s probably going to collapse pretty soon, taking She-Ra with it, only she won’t listen to me because she’s brainwashed and—”

“Entrapta!” Bow’s strained voice cuts through her frantic babbling. Glimmer catches his gaze just for a moment before he responds, and in it catches her own fear reflected back. 

“Entrapta,” Bow repeats, this time forcing some calm into his voice. “Let me get this straight. Adora is connected to an unstable telepathic network, and once it goes out, it will take her with it?”

“Yes,” Entrapta says in relief. “And the rest of the Horde, probably, which is a good thing. Er, except for Adora. That would be a really, really bad thing.”

“Yeah,” Bow replies, his brow crinkled in worry. “Okay—how can we help her, then?”

Entrapta lets out a sharp huff of air. “That’s the problem! She won’t _listen_ to me! I’ve tried to explain it already—the network isn’t attuned to Adora. Which means if she transforms back into Adora, she’ll save herself, and probably take out the network anyway—but, uh, that would probably be for the best. Except for all the lost data.”

Her voice turns wistful for just a moment, before she snaps back to reality. “Anyway, that’s what I told her! But I’m—” she sighs— “I’m not getting through to her. She doesn’t—I don’t think she even remembers who I am.”

Her voice drops miserably at the end, and Glimmer and Bow can’t answer. They don’t have one. Glimmer can only stare at the communication device in Bow’s hand, and wonder with a sinking dread just how on Etheria they’re supposed to make it out of this one.

They’ve always made it through before—when they’ve been together. But now they’re split to pieces, and their strongest piece seems to be lost completely. 

What will they do, Glimmer wonders, if they can’t bring her back at all?

Then she immediately shoos the thought from her mind. She can’t let herself think that way—it’s the first step to failure. Optimism, even in the face of certain death, has always carried her through.

“Entrapta—” Glimmer leans forward, so as to be heard. “What do you think we can do to help Adora?”

There comes a pause, then another sigh. “Oh, I’m not sure. Force won’t work. I don’t, uh, want to get into it, but She-Ra really didn’t respond well when Horde Prime started pushing her around.” She pauses for a long moment, as if thinking, then lets out another sharp huff. “Talking hasn’t worked so far, but I don’t know. You two know her better than I do. Maybe you can get through to her.”

“Maybe we can,” Bow echoes, but he shoots Glimmer a glance, and in his eyes she can already see the hopelessness. They’re close, sure, but who was it that Adora sent away when she went to the Heart? Who was it who always tried to go alone, even when her friends needed her the most.

No. Adora turns everybody away when she thinks she has to. She’s never listened to anybody, just like—

“Catra,” Glimmer breathes, and when she looks up, sees the realization on Bow’s face mirrored from her own. “Bow! She might listen to Catra!”

Bow draws back doubtfully. “Are you sure? Glimmer—they were enemies for years.”

“And best friends for their whole lives,” Glimmer responds. Her heart is beating fast with a feeling she recognizes—the adrenaline of a plan that maybe, just might, work. “Bow, we have to try. We have to get her out.”

Bow is nodding slowly, and she can tell that he’s, at the very least, listening. “Okay. I mean—” He trails off, then nods, expression firming. “It might just be the only thing we’ve got.”

“Yes!” Glimmer leans forward to the device. “Okay, Entrapta, we’ll talk to you later. Is that okay?”

“Oh, sure!” Entrapta’s voice comes staticky over the line. “Me, I’m just working on a way out. Might meet you down there!”

“Perfect.” Glimmer nods to Bow, who reaches for the end button. “We’ll see you soon. Stay safe.”

“Always do!” Entrapta replies, and then with a burst of static the line ends. Bow thumbs the button, and then looks up at Glimmer.

“So,” he says. “Are we doing this?”

Glimmer nods. “We’re doing this.”

—————

She’s not sure how long she’s been there, but she knows when the ships arrive.

Catra hears them before she sees them. A whoosh! of air louder than thunder echoes across the landscape, then another, then another. By the time Catra rolls over and looks up from her curled up position on the bed, she can see the lights shining through the window.

Sickly green, enough to set her stomach at ill-ease with memories she’d rather forget. These are lights she could live a lifetime without seeing, and be all the happier. Lights that only remind her of a time spent lost to Horde Prime’s control, when she had been so thoroughly spun out of her mind that she wasn’t sure she’d ever get back.

She stares out the window, watches streaks of green shoot through the dark of almost-dawn, and resists the urge to turn back to the wall.

How long will it take, she wonders, before Adora kills them all? Will she drown the planet in blood, and then hunt down Catra? Will she even remember Catra? From Catra’s own experience, the jury is out on that one.

If Adora doesn’t remember her.

Catra squeezes her eyes shut, just as a tear tries to force its way through.

Right now, she’s useless. Stuck in a spare room, guards posted at the door, and all she can do is wait for the world to end. She’s already given up on Bow and Glimmer ever coming back for her—and she’s not sure she deserves it, anyway. Maybe it’s better that they leave her here to rot. In fact, on any other occasion, she might have welcomed it.

But not now, with Adora’s life on the line.

With a sigh, Catra heaves herself into a sitting position, and eyes the door. It’s made of thick, heavy metal, the kind her claws couldn’t cut through if she tried. On the other side, she knows, there will be guards waiting. She’s already checked the window; it’s too small, and she’s too high up, for it to be of any use.

Which makes the door the only option. And that means that Catra will have to be ready to fight. Vaguely, she wonders how well-trained Rebellion guards are, then decides that she doesn’t care; she’s getting through them, no matter.

With a quick roll of her shoulders, she turns, then leaps to her feet, claws at the ready. Already, she can feel the first drops of adrenaline filling her veins, tensing for the fight to happen.

She’ll fight the guards, she decides, and then she’ll fight through whoever comes next, and then she’ll fight all the way to She-Ra.

And if she has to get through She-Ra to get to Adora, then she’ll fight her too.

“Alright,” Catra whispers, more for self-reassurance than anything. “Let’s do—”

“Catra!”

With a hiss, Catra spins around, claws out and tails bristling. It takes her a second to place the voice to the person—or rather, people—in front of her.

Then, her ears go back. “Glimmer? Bow?”

“Yeah, obviously.” Glimmer straightens, brushing a bit of dust from her sleeve. “C’mon! We said you’d get you out, and we’re here! We need you to help us!”

“Took you long enough,” Catra replies, but there’s no bite to it. She’s only relieved, far more so than she ever could have imagined.

_They came_ , a voice at the back of her mind whispers in what could almost be joy. _They came_.

Maybe she does have friends after all.

“Of course we came!” Glimmer exclaims, and steps forward, one hand extended. “And c’mon! We have to hurry, before—”

“Before what?” Catra’s eyes go from Glimmer to Bow, who’s clearly holding back. There’s something they’re both worried about, she realizes suddenly, but Glimmer is better at hiding it than Bow. “What’s happening? Has the invasion started?”

“Almost.” Glimmer purses her lips unhappily, and her hand drops an inch. “The main ship is landing near the spot where Horde Prime landed. The Rebellion is gathering right now to meet it, just in case we can—”

“Negotiate.” Bow steps forward, his brow wrinkled in worry. “But we just spoke to Entrapta, and if she’s right about what she told us, we might not be able to.”

“What do you mean?” Catra looks between the two of them, sudden dread swirling in her gut. “What’s going to happen?”

“It’s She-Ra leading the invasion,” Bow says, “Just like Entrapta said. The problem is, apparently She-Ra is not as, uh, powerful as we thought.”

“She’s in trouble, Catra,” Glimmer cuts in, concern and fear writ across her expression. She’s also looking at Catra in a strange way, as if she expects her to solve it. “Apparently She-Ra is connected to Horde Prime’s decaying network. It’s how she’s able to control the clones—”

“But it’s also going to take her out too when it collapses,” Bow jumps in. “Unless she turns back into Adora first.”

Catra stares between the two of them, her heart beating fast. “Okay, so? Why won’t she change back?”

Bow and Glimmer exchange a glance. “We don’t know,” Bow says at last, “But Entrapta thinks it’s because of whatever Prime did to her mind. She doesn’t want to turn back, and Entrapta can’t talk her out of it.”

Oh. Of course. Catra nods dimly, her thoughts moving like slow, panicky sludge. “And you think I can—what? Get through to her?”

Again, Bow and Glimmer exchange a glance. “You’ve known her longer than anyone else, Catra,” Glimmer says. “I mean, if you can’t, who can?”

“You two can,” Catra says. Her throat has gone incredibly dry. “She’d listen to you, she never listens to me—”

“She doesn’t listen to us either.” Glimmer takes a step forward, her hand still out. “She’s never listened to us. But she cares about you, Catra. She came back for you.”

“And you know what she’s going through,” Bow chimes in with a nod. “Catra, if anybody can, you can! You have to.”

“I have to,” Catra echoes dimly, her mind turning in circles. Panic and dread are swirling in her stomach, coalescing into a hard pit. The age old need to run is nipping at her heels. “And what if I can’t?”

“You can,” Glimmer says, so firmly that Catra knows she doesn’t know at all. “Catra, please.”

They think she won’t do it, Catra realizes. They think she doesn’t want to, that there’s some lingering resentment or something equally ridiculous between the two of them. They don’t know that she would take her heart and tear it out in a second if that was what Adora needed.

She’s not afraid of the doing. She’s afraid of the failing.

But that isn’t mean she won’t try.

“Okay.” She swallows hard, and curls her hands into fists. “Let’s go. Before we’re too late.”

For a moment, it’s as if Bow and Glimmer haven’t realized she’s agreed. Their eyes widen, and they glance at each other. Then, Glimmer lets out a cry of victory.

“Yes!” she exclaims, and lunges forward, grabbing Catra by the hand and dragging her forward. “C’mon, best friend squad!”

“Do _not_ —” But Catra’s protest is lost on the wind as a moment later, they’re gone.

——————

She-Ra waits on the teleportation pad and feels…confused.

This is wrong. She’s standing on the verge of the liberation of Etheria, and she should feel elated. She should feel entirely whole and right, as if she’s just stepped upon the path that will bring her home. That is, in some way, what she has done.

But she only feels strange, and slightly lost, like a kitten abandoned by its mother. When she closes her eyes, she sees flashes, of memories she can’t place and things she doesn’t want to recall anyway. Bodies and blood and the sting of a guilt she should have washed her hands of.

_Failure_ , a voice calls, and another one shakes its head in dismay.

_What have you become, She-Ra?_ a voice asks, and though she doesn’t have the name, she knows it belongs to a warrior like her, with dark skin and white hair.

“I am the light,” She-Ra whispers with her eyes closed, but in her mind’s eye she sees nothing but a tiny old lady, her eyes large with disappointment.

The words _Mara would be proud_ whisk away on the winds of a moment that never happened, and for a second She-Ra only feels panicky, like she’s let the whole world down and they’re all about to know, before she shakes the feeling from her head and opens her eyes.

Concentrate. She has to concentrate. She can’t think of an old life, a dead life, and she can’t think of words never spoken and battles never won. She’s done her deeds, and she’ll—she’ll live with them. It’s what was right. It is right.

“Older sister, are you ready?” A clone asks, and she jerks back to reality, then nods.

“Yes. Transport me to the surface.”

The clone dips his head, then jabs a button. Around She-Ra, reality starts to fizz and dissolve, taking her with it. In moments she’s gone, and for a few seconds, blackness reigns.

Then she stumbles onto soft, but solid ground, and when she opens her eyes, she’s home.

Etheria stretches before her, green and vibrant and smelling of flowers. For a moment, before she can catch herself, a smile spreads across her lips, void of malice or smug victory. It’s just…there. Like she’s a child again, marveling at all the pretty things she never got to see.

Then she does catch herself, and, at the sound of a distance, expansive rustling, turns.

And finds herself face to face with an army, not one hundred meters away.

At least, it would be kind to call it such. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of soldiers, but then again, she’s fought millions. She’s torn through planets twice the size. The army before her is enough to evoke a laugh that she has to swallow.

They are nothing compared to the worlds she’s conquered. They are nothing compared to—

_Broken bodies, blood on the ground, soaking her boots, cries of children and mothers alike, soldiers dying at her hand, her fault, her blood—_

She gives a slight shake of her head, forcing the memories from her brain, then looks up, tightening the hold on her sword. 

“People of Etheria.” Her voice carries easily across the short space, and it is cool and calm and entirely unbothered. “I have come to deliver you.”

Before her, a rumble of discontent goes up, just like it always does. Normally, She-Ra smiles at this, indulgent in their silly, misplaced fears.

Now, she only feels slightly sick, like she’s made a bad choice but is desperate to see it through.

But this is the right thing, isn’t it? The light that guides her—

“She-Ra.” A man with long, black hair steps forward, arms up with the palms tilted towards her—a gesture of friendship. “We have gathered here to broker a treaty, not fight. We do not wish to engage in violence. Etheria is a peaceful planet.”

She-Ra only smiles, cocking her head. _Know him_ , a voice whispers at the back of her skull, but she ignores it. “Even peaceful planets can welcome the light.”

The man drops his hands slightly, his tentative smile fading as well. “We do not wish to accept the light, but that doesn’t mean—”

“If you do not accept the light through peace, then I have no wish to talk,” She-Ra interrupts, her voice harsh. _Another way_ , whispers the voice at the back of her head, but she knows no other way beyond violence, and she’s on the edge now, panicky though she can’t say why. “You will accept, whether in peace or in blood.”

The man steps back, his hands rising again, his head shaking. “She-Ra, please.” His voice placating, papering over barely-concealed panic. “We can work something out, we don’t need to—”

But She-Ra only steps forward, hefting her sword.

“I have seen many worlds,” she tells him, and this feels right, sort of, except it’s jagged around the edges and the _memories_ — “And they have all fought. None of them have won. Tell me—” she cocks her head— “Would you rather risk it?”

The man hesitates, and for a moment she sees clear indecision. Then, it hardens into determination.

“Let it not be known that Etherians are cowards,” He says, and raises his hands, fingers splayed. “I’m sorry, but we will not fall to the Horde. Not agai—”

“Wait!” 

A new voice—familiar, _familiar_ —bursts through the air. She-Ra pauses, as does the man, who turns around in confusion.

“Glimmer?” he says.

“Wait, Dad! Wait!” People are being shoved aside, shouting and grumbling and looking around in confusion. “Dad, we have—here!”

And then somebody is pushed through the throngs of soldiers, right past the man and into the open field. She tumbles, falling to her knees, then looks up, right into She-Ra’s eyes.

And smiles, soft and sad and shattered like glass all at the same time.

“Hey, Adora.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sorry for the slight delay, but I was fiddling with it a bit to get how I wanted it to be. I hope it delivers! I really hope you guys like this one.
> 
> And as always, thank you so much for the comments and kudos.

They just barely make it, or at least, so it feels.

Glimmer teleports them right into the middle of the army King Micah has gathered, and Catra has just barely enough time to dry heave once before both Bow and Glimmer push her forward.

“C’mon!” Glimmer’s voice is in her ear, low and urgent. “We have to get to the front!”

“What’s at the front?” Catra gasps, stomach still lurching in every direction.

“It’s the teleportation point we were able to triangulate for She-Ra’s arrival,” Bow’s voice sounds in her other ear. “Well, her or her army. We’re not really sure at this point.”

“Let’s just hope it’s not both,” Glimmer huffs, and sends an energy ball (a harmless one, or so Catra thinks) through the crowds ahead of them, sending soldiers scattering.

“Where are you going?” Netossa calls as they push past, her eyes confused and slightly suspicious as they land on Catra. “Hey, didn’t she betray us?”

“Long story!” Bow calls, not even pausing to stop. “No time, and she might be our only hope, and also—where’s King Micah?”

Netossa eyes them for a moment, then shrugs and points to the front. “Up there. Not far.”

“Thanks.” Glimmer nods and sends another energy ball forward, scattering the crowds. Catra, as they push forward, can’t help but risk a glance back at Netossa, who only gives her a small, sad smile.

“Good luck, kid,” she mouths, and that’s all Catra sees before she’s swallowed by the crowds.

“Dad!” Glimmer is calling as they shoulder through, movements frantic and desperate. “Dad!”

For a moment, it seems like they’re too far. There’s no answer, or none that they can hear. Up ahead, it sounds like somebody might be speaking, but the voices are too far to make out.

“Dad!” Glimmer calls once more, voice rising. “Dad!”

And then, just ahead, they hear: “Glimmer?”

Beside Catra, she hears Bow and Glimmer heave two enormous breaths of relief. She can barely bite back one of her own, before Glimmer is shoving her towards the front, to the soldiers who are now readily moving aside.

“Glimmer, I don’t know what I’m supposed to—” she starts to say, sudden panic rising inside of her, but it’s too late.

“We believe in you, Catra,” Bow reassures with a firm pat on the arm, and Catra wants to shake her head, wants to tell them that she’s nothing, she’s nobody, they can’t place the fate of the world on her, but—

But Adora’s done it all this time, hasn’t she?

“Wait, Dad, wait!” Glimmer is calling, and shoving Catra forward, through the crowds. “We have—here!”

Then, with one final shove, and before Catra can truly understand what she’s about to do, the last of the soldiers part, and she’s falling forward, into an open field, King Micah standing gobsmacked to her right.

She hits the ground knees first, and it takes a moment to collect herself. For a moment, she only stares at the dirt, and even though she’s not even looking, can feel her anyway, as if the whole field is crackling with electricity between them.

Then she tilts her chin up, and looks right into She-Ra’s eyes.

They aren’t Adora’s eyes. They glow a ghostly green, and the look on her face is stiff and unkind, all the angles hardened. There are new scars on her face, new scratches on her armor, a new, raggedly short haircut, and at the center of her chest, her runestone glows a sickly green.

But it doesn’t matter. Because kneeling there, the dirt cool beneath her legs, the whole world caught on the hinge of a breath, all Catra sees is Adora.

And she smiles.

“Hey, Adora.”

Adora doesn’t move. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t frown. She just stares, eyes wide, as if she’s momentarily forgotten the rest of the world exists.

And then her eyes narrow, her grip on her sword tightens, and she looks from Catra to King Micah.

“You offer a champion?” Her tone is amused; almost bored.

“No!” A moment later, King Micah’s hand is on Catra’s shoulder, and he’s pulling her to her feet, his voice angry and urgent in her ear.

“Catra, what are you doing here?” he hisses, and she almost laughs right in his face.

“Trying not to get Adora killed,” she hisses back, hands tightening into fists. “Which, by the way, could save us all.”

“What?” King Micah’s eyes are still on Adora, but at Catra’s words, they glance to her, going wide in surprise. “Catra, I don’t want to hurt her. But I have the rest of Etheria to think about, and—”

“And I can help,” Catra whispers back. “Trust me. Entrapta spoke to us about a cure. You have to let me try.”

For a moment, there’s no reply. Across the field, out of the corner of her eye, Catra can see Adora growing impatient, shifting on her feet, the gesture strangely familiar. It’s the way she always used to get before a fight—like she had too much energy to blow off.

King Micah is looking at her fully now, his gaze sharp and worried.

“Catra,” he says quietly, “just because I had to put you in a cell doesn’t mean I’ll let you put your life on the line.”

For a second, Catra only stares at him, surprised. Then she does laugh, quiet and sure.

“Your majesty,” she tells him, and with one solid movement, wrenches her shoulder from his grip. “You don’t have to _let_ me do anything.”

Then, before King Micah can react, she’s stepping forward, claws out and whole body poised for battle.

“Adora,” she calls out, her voice carrying clear across the field. “Remember me? I think we have unfinished business.”

Adora tilts her head, a bare hint of curiosity flickering across her face.

“My name is She-Ra,” she says, the words hard-edged, like she’s forcing them to be true. There’s something strange, Catra notices, in the way she’s holding herself. An edginess not related to battle, hiding in the shift of her fingers on her sword hilt, the way one foot toes into the dirt.

Something’s wrong, Catra realizes, and all she can feel is relief, mixed with a hint of guilt. She’s always been so good at exploiting Adora’s weaknesses; why stop now?

“Fine, _She-Ra_ ,” Catra calls out through gritted teeth, and steps forward. “I _am_ offering you a challenge. A one on one match, right here. You and me. I lose, you get Etheria.” 

Immediately, cries of protest rise up behind her. Catra ignores them, and focuses on Adora, who only lifts her chin slightly in interest. 

“I win,” Catra continues, “and you have to transform into your regular self. Not She-Ra. Adora.”

Adora tilts her head, pondering this. At last, she says, “I have discarded such a form. This is the real me.”

Catra scoffs. “Oh, sure! Like you couldn’t bring her out if you want to.” She steps forward again, bridging the gap between them inch by inch. “C’mon.” Another step. “Are you scared?”

Something flares in Adora’s eyes then, and her fingers tighten on her sword hilt.

“I have no need of fear,” she hisses, and this anger, these words, are so far from Adora that Catra wants to cry. She doesn’t. Instead, she swallows a lump in her throat and watches, hands loosely curled and at the ready.

“I doubt you—” Adora takes a step forward, her eyes roaming over Catra’s form coolly— “could defeat me. Would you really risk your planet on this?”

_For you?_ Catra thinks. _In an instant._

Out loud, she says, “Better me than the rest of them,” and jerks a thumb over her shoulder. Adora follows her direction, and then a smile spreads across her face, entirely cruel, and so unfamiliar it hurts Catra’s heart to see it.

“Oh, but the thing is,” she says, and spreads her arms wide, and as she does, flashes of light begin to spread over the surround fields. It takes Catra a moment to realize what they are. “I’m not alone.”

Teleportation beams. Clones after clones, appearing before Catra’s very eyes, hundreds of them, thousands of them, and more keep on coming, an entire fleet. The fight is stacked, Catra realizes with a sinking heart, and even if they’re all bound to a decaying telepathic network, decaying is the key word. As in, it hasn’t happened yet, and until it does—

They’re all doomed.

Behind Catra, cries of fear and uncertainty go up, but she forces herself to ignore them. Instead, she scoffs.

“Okay,” she says. “Still too scared to face me alone. I got it.” Then, she spreads her arms wide, and grins. “C’mon, Adora. You’ve been dying to beat me your whole life. Don’t you want one last chance?”

For just a second—a millisecond, really—honest confusion flashes across Adora’s face. Her brow wrinkles, and her lips turn down, as if she’s suddenly recalling—something. 

As if she doesn’t know where she is.

Then she gives the slightest shake of her head, and her expression turns cool again.

“Fine,” she says with a dip of her head. “I’ll defeat you. And I’ll do it easily. But, in the meantime—” she gives a minuscule nod, and as if on cue, every clone turns in their direction— “my brothers will need to keep busy.”

It takes Catra a moment to understand—a moment to long. Because then, with a smile, Adora is raising her sword, and with a cry, she blasts a beam of sickly green light into the air. The crack of it echoes across the entire landscape, and it works as a gunshot; simultaneously, every clone raises their weapon.

Then, with a hideous cry, they rush forward.

“Damn it!” Catra whirls around, heart pounding, and finds King Micah, his eyes wide and fixed on the wall of clones before him, his hands already raising to defend. “King Micah!”

His eyes fly to her. 

“You all take the clones! I’ll lead Adora away!”

For a moment, she’s afraid he won’t listen. That he might push her aside, declare her plan failed, and use some sorcery to transport her far, far away. But instead, after a moment of hesitation, he only nods.

“And Catra—?” he calls as she whirls, and she freezes, then looks over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and then swallows hard, his eyes darting between the army of clones and her. “I hope you can get her back.”

She stares at him, stunned. It takes her a moment to find her words.

“Me too,” she says, then swallows, and turns back to the front, and takes off.

Adora isn’t far. Catra finds her not a hundred meters away, and meets her just as her sword is about to connect with some poor soldier’s staff.

“Hey, Adora!” she cries, and with a wild yell, launches herself into the air, aiming for Adora’s back. She never makes it. Adora spins around, sword raised, and Catra has to change course midair just to avoid being impaled. Instead, she crashes into Adora’s legs, and mostly be accident sends long scratches scraping across her calves, shredding the white fabric of her outfit. Adora lets out a hiss of pain, then kicks, hard enough to send Catra rolling.

“So you do want a one-on one,” she snarls, sword raising above her head. “Do you really want to die so quickly?”

Catra rolls onto her back, and grins up at her. “Not my intended plan, no.”

And then, before the sword can crash down, she’s on her feet and gone, darting just out of reach.

It’s nice to know, she reflects as Adora lets out a howl of frustration and spins around, that Adora is still damnably slow.

And from that moment, it’s on. The battle still rages around them, clones clashing with Rebellion soldiers, but they might as well be happening behind the glass walls of an aquarium. As the world slides away, even the sound fading into the distance, all Catra becomes aware of is the ten feet of space surrounding, that which is occupied by Adora’s attacking form.

In a way, it’s only a sparring match. They’re children, twelve years old maybe, and they’re whirling around the sparring room, trading blows and laughing and occasionally crying out, only this time there’s no laughter, and the only cries they trade are hisses of pain or yells of rage. Adora, besides her original words, doesn’t bother with friendly banter the way she used to. She only fights, angry, sometimes reckless, with the air of somebody who hasn’t lost yet.

Catra, meanwhile, fights with the air of somebody who’s lost it all, and that’s why she’s winning.

She’s not sure when her plan works. All she knows is that sometime later, sweating and panting, as she dodges another blow meant for her head, she realizes that they’re far away from the others, not quite far away to ignore the battle itself, but far enough to be separate. The wind is already blowing the stench of death, enough to turn Catra’s stomach, but Adora doesn’t seem to mind. She doesn’t even seem to mind the scratches cutting across her cheek, or the rents in her armor, or the tears in her outfit. She only fights, singleminded and furious, like she’s not even in there.

But she has to be. Catra has to believe that, because if she doesn’t, she’ll have already lost.

“You know,” she puffs after some time, as Adora sends the sword swiping at her feet. “I really thought I’d lost you.”

Adora doesn’t answer. She only snarls, and sends another blow towards Catra, which Catra easily dodges, and returns with one of her own.

“Adora.” Adora doesn’t answer, but jumps back, just out of reach. “Adora. _Adora_. Are you listening to me?”

“I won’t—” Adora whirls around, sword slicing through the air, and this time Catra has to throw herself into the dirt to avoid losing an arm— “be so easily distracted.”

“Sounds like something somebody distracted would say.”

Adora snarls, and lunges for her, and Catra narrowly avoids another glancing blow, this time from her fist. 

“I know you’re in there,” she continues, gasping, and as she says it, she can only pray that it’s true, that she’s not lying to herself. “I know you’re still Adora, somewhere deep down.”

“You’re wrong,” Adora gasps, with another blow that arcs toward Catra’s head. She’s slowing down, maybe, or maybe Catra’s just hoping. “Adora is gone. There’s only She-Ra now.”

This stops Catra in her tracks, for so long that she almost gets hit again. “Wait. So you admit you remember Adora?”

“Wha—no!” With a growl, Adora lunges toward her, but Catra rocks backwards, relying on her tail to keep her balance. “I don’t remember anything. Not even you.”

“Okay, but that would imply—okay, HEY!” The sword is coming towards her head again, and this time Catra has to move fast to avoid another deep cut. She’s already collected a few shallow ones, running down her legs and arms. “Okay, are we going to fight, or can we please have a conversation?”

This actually pauses Adora for a moment, long enough for her to stare in disbelief. “A conversation?”

“Yeah, dummy. You know, where we—okay, maybe not!” She’s cut off as Adora takes advantage of the pause to rush her, sending Catra flying back. By this time, she’s only playing defense, dancing around Adora as she shuffles panickedly through her brain for something, anything. 

As if some shared memory will trigger Adora’s mind. Or a joke, or a conversation. Hopeless. Why is she even doing this?

“Why are you even doing this?” she cries, shooting the question instead back at Adora along with a swipe of her claws, just enough to keep the sword out of reach. “Why are you fighting me? Why are you fighting any of us?”

She doesn’t expect Adora to answer. At first, she doesn’t. She only growls, and lunges toward Catra, sword high above her head, forcing Catra to dive deep into the dirt off to the side.

“Have to,” she grunts as the sword lands uselessly in the ground, and the words are so low that Catra almost doesn’t make them out.

Then she does, and she rolls onto her back, looking up in confusion.

“Why?”

“Because—!” Adora whirls around, and this time there’s a flash of uncertainty across her face, before it’s gone, swallowed up by determination. “You don’t understand. The light guides me—”

“I know the light!” Catra rolls, dodging once more the lance of her sword. “Adora—I know what you’re talking about! I’ve been there! It’s not an excuse to hurt your friends, though—it’s not an excuse to hurt me!”

“No!” Adora roars, and rushes her once more, just as Catra scrambles to her feet. She falls back, and dodges once, twice, just barely missing the blade. “You can’t know! You can’t understand the things I’ve seen, or—or—”

“Or how everything seems perfect!” Catra launches another series of blows, pushing Adora back. “Or how you can forget how dumb you are! Or everything bad you’ve done! Or how it’s a perfect solution, right? Except it’s NOT!”

Her last blow lands with her words, closed-fist but hard enough to send even She-Ra reeling back. She does so, the sword flying from her grasp, and sticking into the dirt several meters away.

“No,” Adora gasps, staggering backwards, one hand to her jaw as if she can’t understand the hurt. Her fingers are trembling as they touch the rapidly forming bruise, and then she looks up, directly at Catra.

“You understand the light?” she asks, and her voice is almost small, like a child’s.

Catra only nods. Her heart is beating fast, her brain too dizzy to summon anything other than exhaustion. All she wants, stupidly, is to grab Adora by the shoulders and shake her until she realizes that it’s okay, and then pull her into a hug so strong she’ll have no choice but to stay, but she can’t. All she can do is nod.

“I’ve been there,” she says, and her voice is cracking, though she can’t tell if it’s weariness or tears. “I remember how it feels. I remember how you—you just forget.”

Then she steps forward, one hand out, tentative. 

“But it’s not peace,” she says quietly. “Adora—it’s not better. I promise it’s not.”

And she doesn’t know what better is, but she knows it’s not this, standing on a battlefield as war rages just beyond, and her oldest friend stands stuck under the thumb of somebody already dead. It might not even be tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after, but she thinks it might be one day, sometime in the future.

A better day than this, if she can just get Adora to _understand_.

“My name isn’t Adora,” Adora whispers, and Catra wants to laugh.

“I’m still going to call you that,” she says anyway, and steps forward, hand out. “C’mon, Adora. It’s—I know how you feel. I know you’ve gone through things. But I—it’ll be okay. I promise.”

For a moment, Adora just stares at her hand. Confusion and awful uncertainty reign across her expression, like her whole insides are caving in and she doesn’t know what to do, and for a moment, Catra thinks that she’ll take it.

Then, with a cry, she lunges forward and shoves Catra into the dirt, hard enough to knock the wind out of her lungs.

“NO!” she cries, and it might be a sob for all the anguish it carries. “You don’t understand! I can’t leave the light! It guides me, it’ll—it’ll save me—”

“From all the horrible things you’ve done?” Catra grins up at her around dirt and blood, and Adora just shakes her head, frantic and scared.

“No, no,” she says, and it’s almost as if she’s trying to reassure herself, rather than Catra. “It can’t—it’ll be okay. If I just let the light guide me, if I _listen_ , then I’ll have a destiny, and I’ll—I’ll know—”

And then she winces, her hand flying to her forehead, and in a flash Catra is on her feet, ready to pounce if need be.

“Know what?” she growls, and half of her wants to reach out, but the other half knows she’ll be rebuffed. “What, that you’ll know what to do? Newsflash, Adora! Nobody ever knows what to do! Why should you be any different?”

“ _Because!_ ” Adora looks up at her, but doesn’t straighten. She’s lost all of her fight, Catra can tell by the way she’s curled in on herself, her hands wrapped across her chest, her eyes blinking away tears that don’t come. “Because I’m She-Ra, Catra! And if I fail—”

And then Catra blinks. “Did you just call me Catra?”

Adora’s head shoots up, and it’s then that Catra realizes that the green is fading from her eyes, slow but sure.

“I—” she says, and one hand comes up, fingers trembling, to touch the runestone at her chest. It flashes a sickly green as she does so, and she looks down at it, then back up at Catra.

“I did," she whispers, and then closes her eyes, and sucks in shaky breath. "I think—”

She looks up, and her upper lip is trembling as she speaks. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Catra sucks in a breath, and can feel her heart slamming against her ribcage. Her whole self is shaking, like she might fall to pieces at any second.

She doesn’t fall to pieces. Instead, she steps forward, walking on hope and prayers, and reaches one hand out. An offer.

“You don’t have to,” she promises. Her hand waits, and waits. “Adora—you never had to. I don’t care what your destiny is. Not one bit.”

Adora looks at her then, her eyes shining too-bright, and swallows hard. “But if I fail—”

“The world won’t end if you fail,” Catra says in a voice much stronger than she feels. “It won’t.”

Adora sucks in a shaky breath. Tears glisten on her cheeks, and drip from her nose. “Promise?”

Catra nods, and as she does, can feel the start of a bitter, teary laugh that will never make it past her throat. Because this is where it always ends, isn’t it? The start and the end, one big circle around them, entrapping them, saving them. A promise, start to finish. Forever.

She steps forward, her hand out, waiting. “Promise.”

Adora looks at her. Then she looks at her hand, and with trembling fingers, steps forward to take it.

Their fingers touch, and her hair, floating softly behind her head, falls against her back. She winds her fingers closer, and so too does the transformation spread, from her hair to her eyes to her clothes, melting away the warrior that tore her way across the universe, dissolving into the girl who was always trapped inside of her, for better or for worse.

Adora heaves a harsh, ragged breath, and opens her eyes.

“I—” she starts, and then blinks, and immediately, realization hits. Her eyes widen, her breath stutters, and Catra can see the drop coming before it hits.

“Hey, hey.” She tightens her grip just as Adora’s knees go out beneath her, and manages to slow her fall, sending them both gently to the ground. Far away, the sounds of battle have quieted. “Hey, it’s okay. I got you.”

“I don’t—” She’s shaking her head, her breath coming in short starts and stops, her fingers digging a death grip into Catra’s palm. “I—I think—”

“It’s alright,” Catra reassures her, and despite the voice in her head screaming that she doesn’t deserve it, that Adora doesn’t want it, she leans in close and pulls her carefully into her arms. “It’s okay, I promise.”

“P-promise?” Adora tries again, but her voice is weak and cracking down the middle, and halfway through she cuts off into a hiccuping sob, then another, and another. Then she can’t stop, and before Catra can react, even try to pull her closer, she grabs Catra by the shirt and clings like a child, her head buried in her shoulder, her tears staining her shirt, her sobs echoing across a now silent battlefield.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, over and over again, and Catra wants to laugh, wants to cry, wants to yell that she never has to be sorry, ever. That it’s going to be okay, no matter what, even if Catra has to hunt down Adora’s whole clone army and kill them herself.

She doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she just lets herself hold Adora, in a way she’s not even sure she’s allowed to do, and whispers that it’s going to be alright, even if she’s not sure that’s true. 

Even if she has to make it true, by her own two hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it was always going to be this, ya know. Just Catra and Adora, and,,,,idk. I've had this scene from the start. I really hope you guys liked it!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me at the start of this fic: can't wait to get to the hurt/comfort!  
> me 62k later: *one eye twitching*
> 
> anyway, as you probs know, it's def not over, because adora needs major, major therapy lol. and i wrote 62k to get to this point, i am not stopping now.
> 
> i hope you guy enjoy, and sorry its a slow start, but we've got some good stuff coming up!

They stay there for a long time, just the two of them, the battle far off and probably, for all Catra knows, over. At least, she doesn’t hear anything.

Against her chest, Adora cries, more than she’s ever cried before—more than Catra’s ever seen her cry. Her tears soak Catra’s shirt right through, and then mingle with tears of Catra’s own, tears she probably doesn’t deserve to cry. She can’t help it though, and for a long time they only clutch each other like sailors lost in a storm, like there’s no life buoy but each other, like they won’t let go until they wash up to land.

She’s not sure when Adora falls asleep, but eventually, her sobs die off, and her body goes limp against Catra, her chin nestling into her shoulder into a way that’s intimately familiar. Catra can’t help but marvel at it for a moment, the gesture so reminiscent of their childhood, when Adora always, always fell asleep first, and then she drops her chin and lets out a soft chuckle.

“Tired?” she asks nobody, and when Adora doesn’t answer, shifts her weight ever so slightly, just to get a better glimpse. The moment she does, her smile slides from her face like raindrops from a window pane.

“Oh.” She’s not asleep, Catra realizes, but unconscious. Her face has gone pale, her skin drawn, the scratches across her cheek— _they’re supposed to be gone,_ she thinks, _why aren’t they gone?_ —trickling blood. She looks sick, Catra thinks, and then her eyes fall to her chest, and she has to stifle a gasp.

Her runestone hasn’t disappeared with the rest of her outfit. She’s still Adora, still broken and small, but the runestone remains, cracked and glowing an ugly green, only now it’s a part of her. It’s eaten away the fabric of her jacket and shirt, and burned itself into her chest, just above her breastbone.

Catra stares. In a numb, distance fashion, she can almost feel her heart cracking in two. Fear is rising in her throat, the fear that it’s not all over yet, and maybe she’s sick, and maybe she needs to be fixed, or—

“Catra? Catra!”

Unconsciously, Catra tightens her grip, drawing Adora close before turning. As she does, she catches Bow and Glimmer, sliding down a small, soft rise of dirt, their shoes slipping over stones and broken grass. 

“Catra!” Glimmer calls, and then she looks over Catra’s shoulder, and her eyes go wide. “Is that—?”

“Yes,” Catra manages in a low voice, feeling her way around the urge to snap. She has to be calm, she reminds herself, if only because of the person in her arms. “But I think she’s—”

“Oh.” Bow reaches first, and stops, mouth open. His eyes, Catra see, have found the runestone on her chest, and his jaw works uselessly, his gaping mouth spelling out understanding in all but words. “Is—”

“Yes,” Catra says quietly, stupidly afraid, for some reason, that a loud voice will wake her up. She speaks slowly, choosing her words with careful precision. “I don’t know if she’s okay. I need—”

“Entrapta.” Bow nods, just as Glimmer arrives, and holds up his communication device. “She just got in contact with us. Apparently, all the clones on the ship are really confused, and sort of useless.”

“So are the clones here,” Glimmer adds, her eyes fixed on Adora, sparkling too-bright with tears. “They just stopped fighting. That was when we figured—”

“That it worked,” Bow finishes, and he too is watching Adora as if she’s the first and last thing they’ll ever see. Some part of Catra wants to pull her tighter at this, to hide her and yell that she’s hers, they don’t understand—but another part of her only understands the sentiment.

She’s back. Sick, maybe, unconscious, but alive. Entrapta will do something, just like she always does something, and things will be fine.

They’ll be fine.

“Can we get her back to Bright Moon?” Catra looks up at Glimmer, who swallows hard, then nods. She’s visibly blinking back tears by now, but when she speaks, her voice is strong.

“I can teleport us there,” she says, her eyes flicking nervously to Adora. “We can tell Entrapta to meet us, and—”

“Fine.” Catra cuts her off with a nod, then shifts Adora into her arms and starts the climb to her feet. It’s tough—she’s not quite as naturally strong as Adora, and she’s run out the dregs of her adrenaline—but she’s not about to give up. Not now. “Let’s go.”

With one last grunt, she heaves Adora into her arms, whose head lolls, arms hanging limp, then looks up at the other two.

“Well?” she says. “Are we doing this?”

They look at Adora, then look at her. Then, Glimmer steps forward, and with a rush of air, snaps them out of existence.

—————

Piloting Horde Prime’s ship, Entrapta finds, is delightfully easy. It’s also very fun, especially once she puts the poor, confused clones to work.

“Pull starboard!” she cries, and the clones comply, steering them around to nose gently down into an open field. Probably, she could have just jimmied the teleportation system to take her back to the surface, but that seemed far too easy, and far less interesting. Besides, she plans on keeping all of Horde Prime’s tech for research—or at least, as much as the Rebellion will allow her to.

Using his technology for good, she decides, is the very least she can do.

“And—landed!” The ship sets down with a heavy bump, and Entrapta can’t help but grin. It seems, after so much uncertainty, that things are finally settling back into the right order; Entrapta and Adora are home and, judging by the sudden halt in fighting, She-Ra is no more. Horde Prime is dead; and Entrapta has all of his tech with which to do as she pleases.

It’s not a happy ending, she thinks, but it’s getting there. 

She’s still grinning as she steps off the ship, set down in an open field near Bright Moon, and smiles at the landscape.

“Home sweet home!” she declares to nobody in particular. “Okay, first things first. I’ll go check on Darla, and then—”

“Entrapta!”

At Bow’s urgent tones, Entrapta turns, the smile dropping from her face.

“Hi, Bow!” she calls as Bow skids to a halt in front of her, panting. “Nice to see you! Do you like my new ship?”

“Uh, great,” Bow replies with a wary glance to Horde Prime’s ship. Then his eyes slide back to her, and he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Need—you—castle. Adora—unconscious.”

“Unconscious?” That’s when her smile disappears completely, to be replaced by a frown. “Oh. That’s…not good. Technically speaking, however, I’m not a doctor.”

Bow shakes his head. “It’s not that—we think,” he says, his brow crinkling in worry. “It’s, uh, her runestone. It’s…part of her, somehow. And it’s broken.”

“Oh.” Unbidden, a grimace rises to her face. Because she should have expected this. It would have been easy to predict, had she given it the thought, that She-Ra’s crippled runestone might effect Adora in some way. After all, the two are interlinked, which can be both good, and—

…very, very bad.

“Okay.” She nods firmly, stiffening her shoulders and sticking out her chin. “I gotcha. Show me the way, Bow.”

Bow visibily sags in relief. He’s still breathing slightly hard, thanks to what might have been a long run from the palace. He smiles slightly, tinged with weariness, then raises his eyes and shoots her a real grin.

“Entrapta?” he says, and when she looks at him, his grin only widens. “It’s really good to have you back.”

—————

In the hallway outside of Adora’s room, there’s a bench. Catra can only be vaguely grateful for it as she, Glimmer, and Bow wait, tense and on edge, for Entrapta’s return.

She’s been in there for nearly an hour, and Catra is so close to tearing her hair out that she has to keep her claws sheathed and her hands under her thighs, just so she won’t try. 

“Do you think she’ll be done soon?” she asks for what might be the hundredth time, and it’s only thanks to her heightened hearing that she catches the ghost of Glimmer’s swallowed sigh.

“I hope so,” she says with a worried glance to the door. “Did it take this long for your chip to come out?”

“My chip?” Catra follows her gaze to the door, and wishes more than anything that she could barge right through it, Entrapta’s need for concentration notwithstanding. “No. It only took a few minutes. So I don’t get why this is taking so long.”

If there’s an edge to her words by the time she finishes, she really can’t help it. Tension is building up in her, hot and urgent, and threatening to overflow. More than anything, she wants to hit something—preferably a punching bag—but she also knows that there’s no way she’s leaving Adora alone.

So she sits. And waits.

Beside her, Bow lets out a low breath.

“Maybe runestones are more complicated than chips,” he allows, with an uncertain glance toward the door. “And Entrapta did say that Horde Prime had done some nasty stuff to it.”

“Right.” Catra swallows hard, and has to concentrate to prevent her claws from sliding out, ready to slice. The very thought of Horde Prime, once dominated by fear, is now colored only with anger; when she thinks of his face, all she sees is red.

She’s happy that he’s dead, definitely, but some part of her wishes she had been the one to do it. Not even for herself. For Adora.

To Catra’s right, Glimmer sniffs quietly, nervous. “It really has been a long time, though. Maybe we should—”

And then, before she can finish her sentence, the door swings open.

In a flash, Catra is on her feet and on Entrapta, hands on her shoulders, eyes boring into her own.

“Is she okay?” she demands, before Entrapta even has time to suck in a breath. “Is she going to live?”

Entrapta hesitates, and shoots a quick glance to Bow and Glimmer before refocusing on Catra.

“She’s alive,” she says at last, “and she’s okay. For now.”

Catra sags, her entire body going so limp with spent tension that she might as well be a puddle on the floor. She can even feel the wobble of her knees, and has the feeling that if it weren’t for her own hands on Entrapta’s shoulders, she wouldn’t be standing.

Behind her, Glimmer and Bow leap to their feet with quiet exclamations of joy, but Catra ignores them.

“What do you mean, for now?” she asks, tension flaring just as quickly as it had left. “Is she not going to be okay? Did you get the runestone off?”

The questions come thick and fast, so much so that Catra has to cut her own self off to give Entrapta room to answer. Entrapta, for her part, opens her mouth, then shuts it again, as if trying to decide which one to answer first.

“Well, okay is a relative idea,” she says after a moment, “and I’m afraid I don’t have enough data to give a long term prognosis. But I’m also not a doctor, so I’m talking mainly about her telepathic connection to She-Ra, and whatever Horde Prime did to her.”

“The doctors said she’s okay, physically,” Glimmer says anxiously from behind Catra. “I mean, besides her injuries. So it has to be the runestone, right? What else could it be?”

Entrapta swallows hard, as if preparing herself.

“Well, the thing is,” she says carefully, “as far as I can see, according the the neurological readings I took, she’s just…sleeping it off, so to speak. It probably was a real shock, turning back into Adora in the middle of a battle. Not to mention, everything she’s been through…”

She trails off, a distant, worried look on her face, and for a moment, falls silent. Then, she gives a minuscule shake of her head and refocuses with a slightly forced smile.

“Anyway, she should wake up within the next few hours!” she says in a voice that tells Catra she’s trying very hard to avoid questions. “As for the runestone, right now, it doesn’t seem to be doing any harm to her, as far as I can see. From what I gather, there’s a disconnect forced by Horde Prime between Adora and She-Ra. Which means her relationship with She-Ra, neurologically speaking, is all mixed-up—hence the runestone remaining behind—but I’m guessing as long as she doesn’t turn into She-Ra anymore, she’ll be fine.”

“You mean at all?” Glimmer asks, but Catra doesn’t give Entrapta time to answer this, because she doesn’t care.

“What do you mean, neurologically mixed up?” she asks, her hands too tight on Entrapta’s shoulders. Her claws, at least, are still sheathed. “Is that a problem?”

“Er—” Entrapta hesitates, then sags slightly. “Not exactly. It’s more like…” she considers for a moment, then raises her hands to demonstrate. “When Horde Prime forced the connection with She-Ra to his network, he corrupted her runestone, which pretty much scrambled it. Not to mention, with all the things he did to her head, a lot of the runestone’s residual power was probably dedicated to keeping She-Ra alive and functioning. So at the moment, it’s still active, but it’s firing on all the wrong cylinders. It’s stuck to her, but it can’t do anything while she stays as Adora. Does that make sense?”

Catra stares. After a long moment, she shakes her head. “Not really.”

Entrapta huffs in impatience. “Okay, well just consider this: the runestone is broken, but not enough to hurt her if she stays Adora. So she can’t transform, got it?”

One by one, they all nod. Entrapta surveys them for a minute, then, satisfied, nods herself and pulls back from Catra’s grip. “Alright then, well, I’m always available if you need anything, but I have a few friends that I need to—”

“Entrapta.” Catra turns as Entrapta steps past, and watches her freeze in place, then turn. 

“Er, somebody should be there,” she says nervously. “Maybe just one person, to start slow, but still. She might wake up soon.”

“I’ll—” Glimmer starts.

“I’ll stay,” Catra interrupts her, but keeps her gaze fast upon Entrapta. Watching her shift nervously, her eyes moving all over the hallway. “But first, I want to know what Horde Prime did to her.”

Entrapta stiffens. Not quite enough to see if you’re not looking for it, but Catra is watching, and she catches it.

“Uh—” Her hands are wringing, fingers churning. “It’s—I don’t know if this is the ti—”

“Entrapta.” Catra steps forward, her voice like steel. “I. Want. To know.”

Entrapta eyes her for a long moment, slightly panicky, then abruptly sags, shoulders dropping.

“I don’t know all the details,” she admits at last, “and I can’t be sure what the effects are going to be on Adora.” Then she looks up, meeting Catra’s gaze squarely, and her eyes, usually bright and carefree even in the worst of situations, are entirely solemn.

“But there’s a couple things I guess you should know,” she says after a long second, each word pulled out reluctantly. “For one—Horde Prime used her a lot to conquer planets.”

“We know,” Glimmer says, but Entrapta just looks at her, gaze hard.

“And she’s killed a lot of people,” she says in a clipped tone, her whole persona suddenly so far from her normal self that it’s like a smack in the face. “I don’t—I don’t know if Adora will realize that. But my past observations of Adora have suggested that she puts high value on not killing people. So…” She trails off with an awkward shrug. “It might be a lot to deal with.”

“Yeah.” Catra swallows hard, forcing back a lump in her throat. “But what else? You said for one.” 

She’s not going to give up, she’s already decided, until she knows fully what she’s dealing with. Behind her, Adora’s door beckons, pulls, but Catra resists for the moment. If she goes in, she needs a clear head and a clear idea of what she’s facing.

She’s always been a good hand at strategy.

“Oh, right.” Entrapta gulps, and in that moment looks slightly sick. “Well, there’s the other thing. About Horde Prime messing with her head. See, he didn’t just control her. Or, he did, but he used certain tactics.”

And in that moment, Catra knows exactly what she’s about to say. Because she remembers the soft threats, whispered into her ear, harsh and low and entirely terrifying.

_If you find yourself distracted by your memories, I could always just…remove them._

“He didn’t,” she breathes, and a moment later, realizes that she has to clarify. “Entrapta, did he…?”

Entrapta hesitates, then gives the smallest of shrugs. “I can’t say how much he took. Some, definitely, but probably not all. At least, that’s what my readings say.”

“Hang on,” Bow interrupts, stepping forward and glancing between them. “Took? Took what?”

Catra can’t answer, so it’s Entrapta who does. She’s looking at the ground, but at his words, he looks up, and gives a brave attempt at a reassuring smile.

“Memories,” she says, and the smile isn’t working, but, Catra thinks bitterly, at least she’s trying. “He took memories.”

——————

After Entrapta leaves, a brief argument ensues as to who will be at Adora’s side when she wakes up. Catra wins, thanks to unsubtle threats and cold determination, a feeling which abandons her the instant she steps through the door and into Adora’s expansive bedroom.

She looks small, lying in her bed with her newly-short hair splayed across the pillow and her sheets all tangled about her. As Catra approaches, heart beating fast though she doesn’t know why, she can’t help but take a moment to look her over, drinking in the sight of _Adora, safe and sound_ , even as a part of her has to adjust to the newness of it all.

Her hair is new. Catra hadn’t expected that, though in retrospect, she should have. It’s not cut quite as short as Catra’s was, and it’s ragged, as if she’d struggled somewhat during the process. It falls about her ears, over her forehead, and as Catra stares, she’s overcome with a longing to brush back the stray locks so strong that she has to hug her arms to her chest to force it away.

They’d changed her into clean pajamas, simple gray shorts and a shirt, but through the thin fabric Catra can still see the soft, sickly glow of the runestone, and her stomach turns at the sight. 

“Hey, Adora,” she says softly as she approaches, only to freeze as Adora stirs fitfully, her brow knitting into a frown. After a moment, however, it smooths over, and head lolls against the pillow, her eyes still firmly closed.

Catra lets out a nearby sigh, then very carefully drags over a nearby chair and sets it by the bed, close enough she can lean over to touch her if need be. All of a sudden, though it makes no sense, she’s nervous; her heart bangs away in her chest, and her stomach roils as if she’s about to throw up.

She desperately wants Adora to wake up, but she’s terrified too. What if she doesn’t remember Catra, or remembers her in name only? What if she’s still, somehow, under Horde Prime’s control, or wants to be She-Ra again? What if, worst of all, she remembers nothing but the planets she’s conquered and the blood on her hands?

All she wants, paradoxically, is to see the affirming sight of those blue eyes, while at the same time, she’s terrified of what might come after. She’s never been good at taking care of other people; she’s never known how to be a good friend—or if she did once, she’s forgotten. How can she be what Adora needs, after everything she’s done? 

She’s not sure she can be. But she sure has hell isn’t leaving.

Catra watches Adora sleep for a long moment, watches the rise and fall of her breath, and wonders if she should look away. It’s strange now between them, suddenly so similar and yet worlds away. The space between them is nearly naked, void of all their history and yet to Catra, unavoidable. How much will she remember when she wakes up? she wonders, dread putting her stomach, and will any of it be good?

It would be a cruel twist of fate, for her only to remember the bad bits. Then again, even if that’s all Catra deserves, it’s not enough to make her leave

With a sigh, she drops her chin, sagging back into her chair, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. She’ll wait, she decides, for as long as it takes. Hours, or a day, or several. As long as she’s here when Adora gets up, she couldn’t care less about the time lost between.

After all, she did promise.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm sorry for the missed day! I had some writer's block with this chapter, to the point that by the time I figured it out, it was too late to post yesterday - not to mention, I was doing some family stuff and so I didn't have time to sit down and actually write until late. I did post an update on tumblr, but I'm not sure if that many people who saw it - but to those that did, thanks for the kind responses! Anyway, I'm back, and I hope you guys enjoy.

It takes Adora another three hours to wake up, and in all that time, Catra doesn’t move. She doesn’t even take her eyes away, but only watches, perched and waiting, as Adora shifts and frowns and mutters in restless sleep.

She’s doesn’t sense the exact moment Adora starts to stir, but eventually, she can tell when her restlessness slips into almost-consciousness, when her fingers curl into the bedsheets and she turns onto her side to face Catra with a stifled yawn.

Catra watches, heart beating fast, as she blinks once, then twice, and then opens her eyes fully, and looks up to meet Catra’s gaze.

Her eyes are blue, bleary and confused, and Catra can’t stop the enormous sigh of relief that settles through her chest.

“Hey, Adora,” she says, and even though she’s scared for what’s to come, she wants to laugh too, giddy and free, because her eyes are blue.

“Hey…” Adora starts to say, and then her brow wrinkles in confusion. “Where…?”

Her eyes move from Catra, to the room surrounding, and then they go wide and she rockets into a sitting position, bedsheets flying, hands scrabbling.

“I can’t be here,” she gasps, and Catra, for a moment, can only stare in confusion until she realizes that Adora is trying to get out of bed. “No, you can’t let me—”

“Adora, wait!” For a horrible moment, Catra is terrified she’s out of her depth. She’s never been good at taking care of other people—she was the one who stole ration bars, not the one who knew how to comfort somebody to sleep. She has some common ground with Adora’s situation, yes, but in the wake of everything that’s happened it seems to pale before her.

But she has to try.

“It’s okay,” she says, and leans forward, reaching out, but Adora only scrambles to the other side of the bed, knees hugged to her chest.

“You have to get away,” she tells her, eyes shining too-bright, wide with a fear Catra can’t place. “You have to get away from me! Before I—”

For a millisecond, Catra doesn’t understand at all. Then it clicks, and realization sinks like a stone.

“No, Adora, you’re—” There are tears building up in her own throat now, but she swallows them. She’s not going to cry, not when Adora needs her to be strong. “You’re safe. You won’t hurt anybody.”

At least, she doesn’t think so. Entrapta would have said something, right? Catra isn’t sure, but even with that doubt, she can’t imagine that Adora might hurt somebody again. Not the way she’s huddling into the bedsheets, her hair flopping into her face and her knees pressed to her chest.

In this condition, Catra thinks, her heart wrenching, Adora couldn’t hurt a fly. Not even Catra, and not even if she wanted to.

Adora doesn’t look like she believes her. Her eyes roam over Catra’s face, wide and uncertain and suspicious, and then she gives a minuscule shake of her head.

“No,” she says, and then more vehemently. “No, no, you don’t understand, I—”

“I know.” Catra nods, and leans just a little bit farther forward, until her knees bump into the bed and her hand is resting on the bedsheets, ready to reach out if need be. She’s not sure if this is the right thing to do, or if she should even be invading Adora’s personal space, but Adora never minded when they were cadets. Not even when they were on the ship, traveling back to Etheria. “I get it. But none of us hold that against you, Adora. I promise.”

She’s not even sure that’s true, but if it isn’t, she’s ready to fight. Adora, from the look on her face, doesn’t seem to buy her words,but after a moment, she relaxes slightly, her arms loosening around her knees.

Then she blinks, and Catra catches a glimpse of a tear before she looks sharply away.

“You still shouldn’t be here.” She speaks to the mattress, not Catra. “Nobody should be here. You should’ve locked me up.”

For a moment, Catra only stares, grasping for words. It takes her several seconds to find any at all.

“Do you really—do you really think we would lock you up?” she manages, and knows immediately it’s probably the wrong thing to say, but it’s all she can think of. Disbelief, pure and simple, because it doesn’t make sense. Never mind that Catra would never do such a thing—she could never imagine Bow and Glimmer—or for that matter, the Rebellion—doing such a thing. 

After all, they’d done no such thing to her, minus a couple of mis-aimed punches, courtesy of Frosta. 

Adora doesn’t answer. She doesn’t look at Catra either. Her eyes remain fixed upon the bedsheets, sparkling with unshed tears. After a long moment, she heaves a heavy breath, and lets it out in a sigh.

“Why did you save me?” she asks. Her tone is ragged, harsh. “Why didn’t you—why didn’t you kill me?”

“I—” Of all the things Catra might have expected, this is the least of them. But then again, she realizes suddenly, maybe she should have. Because it was Adora who nearly died saving Catra, and Adora who tried to sacrifice herself again for all of Etheria. Adora, who treats her life like it’s worth less than pennies.

“Adora, that’s not—” she doesn’t know what to say. She really is out of her depth, as a friend and anything else, and maybe she should have let Bow and Glimmer be the ones to wake her up, because Catra doesn’t know what to say. She’s never known what to say, except when she’s wanted to make people hurt, and now the other kind of words—understanding and kind—are so much harder. She’s at a loss for them.

“I wouldn’t kill you,” she chokes out, and wants desperately once more to reach out, to grab Adora’s hand and pull her close, to show her how much she means to her the way Adora did so long ago on Horde Prime’s ship, but some part of her knows that it’s not the right move. Adora’s body language screams ‘don’t touch’, and for once, Catra is going to listen.

“Hmmph.” Adora makes a noise that sounds like a disbelieving huff, but there’s a jaded edge to it that Catra’s never really heard in Adora’s voice before—not even when they were on opposite sides of a war. Adora, out of every one of them, has always been the one to carry the hope for all. Probably even when she doesn’t want to.

Now she sounds like…Catra.

It hurts to hear more than Catra might have thought.

“Adora—” Catra says, then hesitates. She feels like she’s playing a guessing game, with no clues to be found, and all she can think is that if she had spent more time being a better friend in the past, she might know what to do now. 

But it’s pretty useless to wish for what she doesn’t have, so for now she’ll just have to keep guessing.

Adora still isn’t looking at her. She’s gone quiet, too quiet, curled up on the opposite side of the bed with her knees still hugging her chest, her chin jammed deemed against her shins. She’s trembling slightly, Catra notices, much as she seems to be trying to hide it, and her eyes are still sparkling too-bright.

“Can I…come closer?” Catra tries, and holds her breath, praying it will work. For a moment, she’s not sure it will. But then, after several seconds, Adora gives a tiny, slow nod.

Catra lets out her breath. Then, slowly, she rises from her chair, pushing it away, and settles on the edge of the mattress, watching Adora the whole time to gauge her reaction. They’ve always been touchy-feely, the two of them, even when Catra’s hated touch from anybody else but her, and so it’s hard not to fall back into old habits—to lean back until they’re touching, or to reach out and draw her closer, or even curl up at her feet like she did so often when they were cadets.

Instead, she waits for several seconds on the edge of the mattress, and then, when Adora doesn’t show a negative reaction, slowly eases back until they’re on the same side of the bed, only a couple of feet apart. Then she crosses her legs and settles her hands in her lap, a perfect picture of the patience she’s really not feeling.

“Can I—” she starts, then hesitates, unsure. “Can I ask something?”

Adora doesn’t look up, but she nods once.

“Do you…” The question is sticking in her throat. She desperately doesn’t want to ask it—or maybe she just doesn’t want to know the answer. But at the same time, she needs to know. 

“Do you remember who I am?” Maybe it’s silly, because Adora seems to recognize her, but Catra has to be sure, if only to ease the ball of dread in her stomach.

At this, though Adora doesn’t look up, she frowns at the mattress, a wrinkle forming in her brow, as if trying to recall something difficult. As the seconds pass, and she doesn’t answer, Catra’s dread grows, her heart pounding a drumbeat in her chest.

At last, Adora speaks, so low Catra has to strain to hear it. 

“You’re…Catra.”

“Yeah.” In that moment, she feels like she could fall over from pure relief. It’s only willpower that keeps her upright, and nodding in response, even as inwardly she thanks the heavens. “Yeah, it’s me. We grew up together.”

“We fought each other.” Her voice is once again hard, almost accusatory. Without thinking, Catra winces.

“Yeah…we did,” she admits, and without thinking, reaches up to palm the back of her neck, only to freeze as Adora flinches. Slowly, she lowers her hand, and settles it in her lap.

“But we’re friends now,” she adds. _I think_. “You saved my life.”

And she’ll never understand why, but it’s too late to change, and too late to wonder. Catra has long since given up on questioning it; now, it only mixes with the guilt of knowing she might have been able to do the same, and instead she’d run away.

Would it have been different, she sometimes wonders, if she had come with Adora to the Heart? Or would everything have turned out the same?

“I don’t remember that,” Adora admits, so quiet it takes Catra a moment to hear. Then she does, and her heart skips a beat.

“Oh.” She nods, even as her stomach is churning, her air going thin. “That’s…fine. Is there anything else you don’t remember?”

Really, she wants to question Adora, to ask over every part of her life and dig for the memories gone, to count the moments lost and the past rewritten—but she can’t. It’s not the time, and even Catra isn’t so terrible of a friend to think such a thing could be helpful.

“I don’t know,” Adora says with a small shrug. She still hasn’t raised her eyes from the mattress, and some part of Catra only wants her to look up. “I don’t remember.”

“Oh. Oh yeah. That’s a good point.” And Catra feels like an idiot. “Do you…want to talk about it?”

And then, unexpectedly, Adora lets out a bitter laugh. “What is there to talk about?”

“Uh…I don’t know.” Everything. About how much Catra has missed her, and how much she’s wished things could have gone differently. How she’s thought about her every night, every day, probably every waking moment, and it still hurts, like a knife left in her gut to rot, and she just wants things to be okay, but also knows that they won’t be for a long time. Maybe ever. “Just…I don’t know. If you need to talk about, you know, what Horde—”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” Her voice is like stone. Catra immediately changes tacts.

“Okay, not that.” Desperately, she searches for something else, anything. “Do you want to see Bow and Glimmer?”

At this, unexpectedly, Adora looks up, her brow crinkling in confusion. “Who?”

And then, before Catra can say anything—she’s too stunned to formulate a reply anyway—her confusion clears into slight recognition, and she looks away again. “Oh. I remember them. I think.”

“Yeah,” Catra manages, her thoughts spinning in dizzy, impossible to decipher circles. All she can think is that she has no idea how she’s going to break this to them. “Uh, okay. You don’t have to see them. We can just…talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Adora says, her tone hard as rock and cold to boot, and it’s so unexpected that Catra stops in her tracks, unable to think of an intelligent response.

“Oh. Um—” She doesn’t know how to do this. She doesn’t know how to do this. And worse, she’s starting to panic, starting to feel like she’s treading water as the current pulls her under, and this isn’t even supposed to be about her, but all she can think is that she’s failing.

Not a good enough friend. Never enough. But this time, it’s definitively her fault. 

“We don’t have to talk, then,” she says carefully, edging around words like mines. “We can—”

“I don’t want to do anything,” Adora says, and now her fingers are digging into her flesh, her nails leaving half-moon marks. Her eyes are boring into the mattress with enough intensity to set it on fire. “You shouldn’t—I _told_ you, nobody should see me. I shouldn’t be here, I can’t be here, I’m—I’m dangerous, and I—”

“Adora—Adora!” Without thinking, Catra leans forward, one hand reaching out, only to snatch it back as Adora flinches away. 

“Sorry,” she says quickly, dropping her hand, “but you do belong here! What, did you think we’d just leave you out there?”

“You should have,” Adora growls, her hands wrapped tight across her knees, her fingers trembling— “You should have killed me when you had the chance, Catra. I shouldn’t even be alive.”

“Well, you are,” Catra snaps back, surprising even herself with the intensity of her reaction. But she can feel it now, familiar anger, because anger is always so, so much easier than hurt, and guilt, and everything else complicated. “I’m not going to kill you, Adora! Nobody here is going to kill you! You don’t deserve to—”

“Don’t.” Adora shakes her head, and now her lower lip is trembling too, tears starting to overflow. Catra stops, surprised into silence, only to be hit a moment later by a hot wave of guilt.

Two minutes into a conversation, and she’s ruined it. All that anger she’s been working so hard at quelling, and she’s directed it at the one person who needs the opposite.

What kind of a person is she?

Carefully, she draws back her hand, tucking it into her lap, and sits there, unsure what to say. She’s not sure how she’d imagined any of this going, but she hadn’t imagined this, and now she’s lost.

“You don’t,” she says quietly, and doesn’t look up, but hears a hiccup that sounds dangerously like a stifled sob. “You didn’t give up on me. I’m not going to give up on you.”

Adora doesn’t say anything. She only stares at the mattress, and it takes Catra another good minute to realize that she’s done. They both are. Silence stretches between them, and there’s nothing Catra can say that will help, and she doesn’t want to leave either, but she’s known Adora long enough to tell when she wants to be alone.

Catra won’t leave entirely, but she’ll just have to get used to sleeping in the hallway.

“I’m going to tell the others you’re awake,” she says, watching her reaction. She gets none. “I won’t bring them in. It’s just so they know.”

Adora doesn’t answer, so after a moment she rises, removing herself carefully from the bed to leave only wrinkled bedsheets behind. She watches Adora out of the corner of her eye as she goes, but Adora doesn’t look up, nor does she move.

She does speak, once, just as Catra turns to go.

“It’s different,” she says quietly, so much so that Catra nearly misses it. At her words, Catra pauses, then turns.

“What?”

“It’s different,” Adora repeats in a small voice. “I—I did worse things than you, Catra. I—I killed people. Innocent people.”

Catra stares at her, and wonders if maybe, just maybe, Adora doesn’t know Catra as well as she thinks she does.

“Do you think that matters to me?” she asks, and Adora sucks in a small, shaky breath.

“It should,” she says, and Catra could laugh for the petulance in her tone.

“Not for me,” she says, and knows as she does that it’s entirely the truth. “Not when it’s you.”

And there are a whole host of other reasons too, but she knows Adora won’t believe them. Not the ‘it’s not your fault’ and the ‘you were brainwashed’ or the ‘I’ve been there’. She’ll never believe any of them, because she’s Adora, and it’s who she is. The protector. The moral absolutist. The too-good-for-her-own-good. That’s why Catra settles on the most simple of them all, and hopes that some part of Adora will accept it.

She’s not sure if she does. Adora doesn’t look up, or move, or otherwise respond in any way, but she doesn’t bite back with another remark, and after a moment, Catra turns to go. She doesn’t look back until she’s standing in the doorway, one hand on the door knob. Only then does she risk a glance, though nothing could have changed.

Adora hasn’t moved. She’s still curled into a tight ball on the mattress, her arms hugging her knees to her chest, her fingers trembling. Only now, even at this distance, Catra can see the small, dark splotches on the mattress, her tears slowly seeping through.

She watches her for a long moment, her heart aching like a bruise, then turns, and goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just by the by, if I am late with a chapter il probably post an update on my tumblr at hetzi-clutch, just so yall know.
> 
> As for this chapter, I had a really hard time trying to delineate what Adora's reaction would be. I think I finally settled on something that will get me to the story I want to tell, but we'll see. As always, thank you so much for reading!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! sorry for the late-ish chapter, I had a busy day. thank you as always for the comments and kudos, it legit means the world to me!

When she steps out into the hallway, Bow and Glimmer are waiting for her.

“Is she okay?” Bow asks immediately, getting far closer than what Catra finds to be comfortable. He seems to realize his mistake, however, for after a moment he steps back, though anxious eyes remain upon her.

“Catra…?” Glimmer steps up as well, though this time at a respectable distance, and eyes her worriedly. For a second, Catra doesn’t understand why. Then she feels something wet slide down her cheek, and when she brings her fingertips to her face, she comes away with tears.

“I’m fine,” she says, even though it’s very clear that she is not fine. But how on Etheria is she supposed to sum up her own mental state, or that of Adora’s? That she might not even remember Bow and Glimmer, never mind the rest of her life? That she’s already doing the most Adora thing possible, and taking all the blame, no matter how heavy the weight?

“She’s awake,” she says instead, furiously swiping a palm across her cheek, pushing away traitorous tears that just keep on coming. “I don’t think she wants to see anybody, though. She’s…”

She doesn’t know what to say. Bow and Glimmer are eying her anxiously, shifting on the tips of their toes, eyes darting to the door.

“…in shock,” she finishes firmly, and it’s not quite the truth, but close enough. “I…I think she remembers what happened, but not some stuff before. I don’t know. I didn’t want to question her too much.”

And it hurt too much to be there. She doesn’t say that though, because she can’t admit the cowardice out loud. It hurt to watch Adora hurt, to know that she has no idea how to help, and that maybe she can’t. That maybe all she can do is be there, which is simultaneously more than she’s ever done, and also almost too much. It’s always, always, so much easier to leave.

Which is what she’d just done. Only she’s not really leaving, not now. She’s just…giving her space.

At least, Catra wants to believe it’s for that reason, and not because she’s too scared to face the situation.

“What do you mean she doesn’t remember things?” Glimmer asks, though Catra can tell with one glance that she already fears the worst. “What didn’t she remember?”

“I told you, I didn’t ask,” Catra says, noticing only too late the snippiness of her tone. “I mean, there were some things she didn’t immediately recognize, but I didn’t push her. I don’t think any of us should push her.”

“We won’t,” Bow says firmly, though Catra can tell by his sideways glance to the door that he’s far more worried than his calm tone belies. “We’ll do whatever you think is best for her.”

“Yeah, we don’t want to push her,” Glimmer adds, and Catra can only stare. Since when is anybody—Bow and Glimmer included—following Catra’s instruction? As if she knows anymore than they do. As if she knows what the right thing is to do.

“Uh, I’m not saying that’s best,” she says, and then, cursing internally, backtracks, because that’s not what she means either. “I mean, I think it is, but—why are you asking me, anyway? I don’t know anymore than you two. Hell, two days ago I betrayed you both!”

Glimmer and Bow draw back in surprise, then exchange a glance. Then, Bow shrugs.

“Well, yeah, but I sort of get it,” he admits, palming the back of his neck. “I mean, you were were worried for Adora, and, well—”

“Maybe we weren’t worried enough,” Glimmer jumps in, one foot toeing guiltily into the carpet. “Because, well, we were all thinking about She-Ra, and we were so focused on what she would do to us that we didn’t fight hard enough for Adora.”

Catra looks between the two of them, confused. “But you both did things. You worked on the ship, and—”

“And we could have fought harder!” Glimmer bursts out, then stops in apparent surprise at her own self. She draws back, and casts a look between Bow and Catra, then sighs.

“Listen, I knew my dad was worried about She-Ra,” she admits, “and I promised me we would find Adora, but he has to put Etheria first. Or at least, that’s how he thinks. And I get that, because I’m queen too, and when I was the only person in charge, that’s all I would worry about, but it’s so easy to forget…” she trails off, then shrugs. “Everything. Or at least, the things that matter. And Adora matters way more than She-Ra, but I feel like for a little while, the Rebellion forgot.”

“Yeah, well, the Rebellion’s always cared about She-Ra more than Adora,” Catra says roughly, and she’s not sure if it’s the truth or her own feelings talking, but she can’t stop the words once they leave her mouth. “I mean, that’s how everybody sees her. Etheria’s hero, and all that.”

And that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Because to everybody else in the world, Adora is a hero, only she’s never been that to Catra. She’s only been her friend, and sometimes her protector, but never her hero. There was too much resentment there, sown by Shadow Weaver, for Catra to ever look at Adora through such rose-colored glasses.

Sometimes, she used to wish she could just see Adora as She-Ra, and that was all. Now, she’s glad she doesn’t.

Both Bow and Glimmer shift uncomfortably, and she can tell she’s hit a sore point. She wonders if that’s something that’s ever bothered them, the hero worship that Adora endures, or whether by this point it’s as natural as breathing. 

“Maybe you’re right,” Bow admits after a long, awkward moment. “It’s sort of hard to see past that, sometimes. I mean, Adora’s always been our friend, but—”

“She’s also always been She-Ra, for as long as we’ve known her,” Glimmer adds. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that they’re not…you know. One and the same.”

“Yeah.” Bow shrugs, and for just a moment, makes a move as if he’s about to put his arm around Glimmer, only to quickly rethink. It’s a small movement, but Catra notices all the same, and for a brief moment, wonders if she’s missing something. 

“Huh.” Catra looks between the two of them, eyes narrowing in suspicion, then decides it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t have the brain space to ponder whatever’s going on between Bow and Glimmer. “So—what. You think I can deal with this better?”

It’s the wrong choice of words, she knows immediately, because Adora is not a thing to be dealt with. If Bow and Glimmer notice, however, they don’t comment. Instead, they only exchange a glance, and then Glimmer shrugs.

“I don’t know if anybody’s the right person to, uh, deal with this,” she says, and then gives Catra a tentative smile. “But Catra—you brought her back. She recognized you, right?”

“She—” Catra thinks back, to the battlefield and then to the conversation minutes earlier. “She did, yeah.”

“So if there’s anybody she needs, it’s you,” Glimmer says with a firm nod, as if to back her own words up. “And we’ll be there too, of course. But at Adora’s pace.”

“And yours,” Bow chimes in with a smile. “We’re still your friends, you know. Even if you did sort of not tell us about the invasion of Etheria.”

Catra winces. “Okay, we don’t have to bring that up again. I said I was sorry. At least, I think I said I was sorry.”

“Oh, we forgive you!” Bow replies, his grin turning mischievous. “But as part of the Best Friend Squad, I reserve all right to remind you about it. Forever.”

“Bow,” Glimmer groans, but she’s smiling too, and there’s even a grin of Catra’s own creeping across her face, despite the tumultuous emotions in her chest. For a second, she feels guilty—she shouldn’t be smiling, not now, not in this situation—but then she realizes that that was probably Bow and Glimmer’s whole plan. They saw her crying, and cheered her up. Somehow.

“Okay,” Catra says, and even though her whole self screams against it, she allows her smile to spread across her face. “I guess that’s fair, Arrow Boy.”

Bow opens his mouth as if to reply, then seems to think better of it. Instead, he smiles, and his eyes flick momentarily towards Adora’s door, then back to Catra.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “So. No visitors. What do we do, then?”

Catra hesitates, momentarily as stumped as he is. Then, she looks back to the bench they’d sat on only a few hours before, and an idea hits her. 

“Hey, Bow,” she says, turning to him, “do you know any games?”

—————

Adora doesn’t move for a long time. 

For a while, she doesn’t think she can. Once Catra leaves, she stays where she is, curled into a ball like it’s the only thing holding her together, and tries not to think of anything.

She can’t sleep. Sleep is an uncontrolled state, full of nightmares and who-knows-what. If she sleeps, half of her fears that she might slip away, away from Adora and into She-Ra, who follows the light and kills with her bare hands.

The other half just doesn’t want to dream.

The worst part is that she’s not sure where She-Ra ends and Adora begins. Because She-Ra, ever since she’s touched the sword, has always been a part of her, even when she was gone. Being She-Ra felt right, like it was all she was born to do.

It felt like her destiny, only now that scares her more than anything.

There’s a small, but strong, part of her that wishes desperately that she wasn’t alone. She feels so utterly desolate without the light guiding her, and she hates that she feels the lack, that she even misses it, but in its place she longs for something warm. A person, maybe, just to sit near.

But she can’t see anybody, and she knows that. Nobody should be near her, not for what she’s done. She needs to be locked up, far away from the rest of the world, and if they can’t kill her, they could at least leave her to rot. She’s not convinced they won’t either; whatever Catra had told her, she’s pretty sure the Rebellion doesn’t take kindly to people who try to kill them.

That ‘pretty sure’ is the kicker though, because she can’t remember enough to be sure about anything. She knows things, certainly, but it’s the names and the faces and the definite memories that float in and out of her grasp, like trying to catch clouds on a sunny day. When she reaches, her hands go right through.

She remembers Catra, and she remembers fighting her, and then something happened—but she can’t remember what. They don’t hate each other, she’s pretty sure, but she also doesn’t remember ever hating Catra, so she’s not entirely sure what’s true and what isn’t.

But Catra was there when she woke up. That means something, Adora thinks, even though there was a moment, she’s pretty sure, when she wasn’t there and Adora needed her to be.

But she also remembers a time when she wasn’t there for Catra either, so maybe it all evens out. They really are, it seems, so good at leaving each other.

She remembers, she thinks, other friends. Bow and Glimmer—their names come to Adora in Catra’s voice—but she struggles to recall their faces. She thinks they’re good people, and kind—which only means that she doesn’t deserve them. Not anymore, at least. Not with all she’s done.

Not when the blood of countless worlds stains her hands, and her memories swim with violence and fear and grit between her teeth, and she remembers how it feels to—to—

Her hands are digging into her knees, and without thinking, she sucks in a shaky breath. Her heart is beating light and fast, like a hummingbird’s, slamming against her ribcage. Nausea is churning through her stomach.

She can’t sit here. But she can’t leave either. Not when she’s a danger to the whole world. 

In a frantic, panicky movement, she pushes herself up from the bed and onto her feet, staggering from a sudden rush of vertigo. For a second, the whole world spins, and she really does feel like she’s about to puke, but then it stops and she’s able to maintain her balance.

Movement brings clarity, or at least, it keeps her hands from trembling so visibly. She sticks them under her armpits, shivering slightly in her shorts and t-shirts, and because she can’t go outside, she moves toward the bathroom.

It’s the same as she remembers it—lush and extravagant, moreso than she ever got used to, and now it only makes her twice as uncomfortable, knowing that she should be in a cell rather than her old bedroom. Why are they keeping her here? she wonders desperately, and then pushes the thought away, if only because it brings another wave of panicky guilt. Instead, she moves to the mirror and leans over the sink, gripping the edge so hard her nails scrape against the granite. For a moment, she just stares into the basin, eyes caught on the drain, and then, with a forceful breath, she looks up.

Her eyes are blue. She doesn’t know what she expected to see, if she’s being honest, but the very sight brings so much relief that she nearly sinks to her knees. She doesn’t remember looking often in the mirror as She-Ra, but she does remember catching the occasional glimpse of her reflection. Green, glowing eyes, and short hair.

The short hair has stayed. It hangs over her forehead and ears, curling slightly, and she considers it for a long moment, trying to remember if her hair ever curled. She’s never had short enough hair to say, but something about it bothers her. Like it’s not really the person she’s supposed to be.

She-Ra always had long, flowing hair, hair she used to be jealous of. She hadn’t known it could be cut. In a more abstract sense, it shouldn’t even matter, but it hurts, and she doesn’t know why.

With one hand, she reaches up to push back locks from her forehead, only to stop, as something snags her attention. Namely, her chest, the spot just above her breastbone, glowing green underneath her t-shirt. 

It shouldn’t be glowing green. At least, she doesn’t remember such a thing, and even though her memories are patchy, she’s pretty sure this isn’t a common thing.

Carefully, slight dread forming in her stomach, she reaches to her collar and pulls the fabric down, stretching it just far enough to see what lies underneath. 

It takes her a moment to understand what she’s seeing. All she can think, as she stares at the cracked, glowing runestone, is that it doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t there, because she isn’t She-Ra anymore, and she never had the runestone burned into her own flesh like a brand, left to rot her from the inside out.

It doesn’t make sense. It can’t—it needs to be over. She can’t have a mark like this on her skin, reminding her of what she’s done and where she’s been, of all the crimes she’s committed. She doesn’t want to think about it—she doesn’t want to remember.

Then again, maybe that’s precisely why it’s there.

Panic has her stumbling back, one hand clutching uselessly at her chest, the other scrabbling for something, anything to hold onto. She finds the door knob and yanks it towards her, then staggers through the door, fingers trembling as they hover above her runestone, afraid to touch.

She’s not sure why she’s panicking, except for the fact that this scares her, the though that it isn’t completely gone, that She-Ra is still in there somewhere, waiting to come out, waiting to take over. What if she can’t control it? What if She-Ra controls her now, and this is only a temporary reprieve before she’s—before she’s—

She shuts the thought off like a faucet, but it still leaks out, panic seeping through her chest, turning her frantic, like a bird trapped in a cage. All of a sudden, she feels claustrophobic, like the room is closing in, and she has to get out before she collapses.

But there are people out there, she reminds herself. People she could hurt if she’s She-Ra, people she could kill. If she loses control—

But she won’t. She can’t. She has to do something instead, something productive, something that will protect people rather than hurting them.

She has to be fixed.

Without thinking, still have in a panic, she lunges for the door, and yanks it open with trembling fingers. She doesn’t even expect anybody to be there, but when the door swings inward, somebody falls backwards, only to catch themselves and spin around.

Adora stares.

Three people are sitting in front of her door, though it’s been hours since she’d talked to Catra. Catra, in fact, is the one right in front of the door, while the others—Bow and Glimmer, she recalls dimly—are sitting a few feet away, each grasping a fistful of cards. They startle as well with the movement of the door, and their heads jerk up, their eyes going wide in surprise and an uncertain joy.

“Adora—” Glimmer—she thinks—starts to say, but Adora ignores her. She can’t look at them, can’t look at any of the people she’s tried to kill, people who she thinks might have been her friends in another life, only she certainly doesn’t deserve them now. 

_Don’t look. Don’t respond. You don’t deserve to._

“I need—” Her voice comes out harsh and ragged, as if she’s barely spoken in days. “I need you to help me.” 

And then, because they’re all staring at her in confusion, and she doesn’t have the right words to elaborate, she just grab the collar of her shirt and jerks it down just far enough to reveal her runestone.

“Please.” Her voice is trembling. “I need you to take it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like it's a tricky balance between Glimmer and Bow and Catra, and their respective worry towards Adora. It's true that Glimmer and Bow are amazing friends, and care about Adora SO much, but She-Ra has always played a huge role in that friendship, whereas to Catra, she legit doesn't care. I don't think Bow and Glimmer were in the wrong really, but I think they might feel that way, given how Adora came back to them, if that makes sense.
> 
> anyway, other than my rambling, i hope yall enjoyed!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me finally figuring out a direction for this story: >: )
> 
> as always, thank you so much for reading!

For a moment, nobody moves. The others only stare, caught between confusion and possible paralysis, and Adora can’t figure out why, before she realizes that it might be because of her.

Of course. Because why would anybody ever want to help her again?

“Please,” she croaks, noticing absentmindedly how very thirsty she is. It seems like ages since she’s eaten, or drunken anything. Had she eaten on Horde Prime’s ship? She doesn’t recall. She’s not sure, but something about intravenous nutrition seems to fit with her memories. 

And at her word, as if pressing play on a frozen hologram, they all scramble to life.

“Of course!” Glimmer says quickly, with an urgent glance to the boy—Bow—who nods. “I’ll, uh, get Entrapta.”

“Thank—” Adora tries to say, but she doesn’t get the word out, because she’s already gone, disappeared into thin air. Adora stares, momentarily puzzled, before Bow steps forward, one hand out as if to calm, or comfort. She’s not sure which.

“She just teleported,” he says with a friendly smile. “She, uh, does that. Do you remember?”

“Um—” They shouldn’t be talking, she thinks desperately. She shouldn’t even be allowed to interact with anybody, and yet they’re standing here, looking at her as if she’s their friend, and not a monster. “I—”

“Adora, it’s okay.” It’s Catra who steps forward this time, her eyes fast upon Adora though her arms stay firmly at her sides. “It’s okay if you don’t.”

“O…kay.” But they’re not getting it, is the problem. It’s not that she doesn’t remember him—she does, vaguely—but rather than they’re approaching her in such ill caution, as if she couldn’t hurt a fly, when they all know that’s not true.

One wrong move, she thinks, her heart picking up speed, and what if she loses control? What if the light finds her again, wraps its greedy fingers around her brain and squeezes, until she forgets everything she ever thought? She remembers how it felt so clearly—she’s simultaneously terrified of feeling it again, and almost misses it.

Without thinking, she takes a step back. “I’m fine,” she says, her voice cutting and hard, and sees something flash in Catra’s eyes. Not anger—though that should be there—and not even hurt. Just…sadness. She doesn’t move away, but she doesn’t come closer either.

But Bow steps back with a small, sad smile, and Adora barely has time to realize that she’s hurt them again, somehow, without even trying, before a pop of air nearby sends her leaping out of her skin.

“Okay, here we—it’s just me!” Glimmer throws her hands up in apology as Entrapta stumbles by her side, using her hair to right herself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Adora stumbles back into the wall, only partly conscious of a hand on the small of her back, steadying her, before she forces herself to straighten and her breathing to even out.

“It’s fine,” she manages, even though her heart is beating out a staccato rhythm against her ribcage. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

She has to be fine. She has to hold it together, even when she can’t, because to lose control could mean the end of everything—or at least, so it feels. She’s not entirely sure that She-Ra could even come back, but she doesn’t trust herself anymore. She doesn’t trust She-Ra herself, not when Horde Prime has taken her and twisted her—twisted Adora—into his own image. 

“Are you sure?” a quiet voice asks behind her, and only then does Adora become entirely conscious of the hand still linger at the small of her back. It’s familiar, fitting in a way nobody really else is, and she doesn’t have to twist around to know that it’s Catra’s.

Adora closes her eyes, sucks in a deep breath, and though stupidly a part of her longs to lean back into an embrace she recognizes and misses, she knows that she can’t. She has to stay away. From everybody.

“Yes.” With one step, she pulls away from Catra’s hand and presses against the wall instead, a suitable distance from everybody else. Only then does she allow her eyes to fall upon the others.

“Sorry.” The word falls from her lips automatically, and with it she knows she’s not only apologizing for this mess, but for a thousand other things, things she couldn’t put into words if she tried. It’s not enough—it will never be enough—but she doesn’t know what else to say.

“No need to apologize!” A familiar voice has Adora’s eyes flying to the source, and the second they do, her heart sinks. Because she knows that voice, knows that face, and if she had the choice, would never see her again for the rest of her life.

But Entrapta steps forward, a big grin on her face, and leans in with wide curious eyes, which roam over Adora as if she were a particularly interesting bit of machinery.

“Natural response.” She nods, as if affirming her own statement. “Trauma brings out all kinds of reactions. In fact, you would even call it expected. Expect the unexpected!” She grins, and Adora shrinks back, only to be met by a tentative touch on her shoulder. Catra, she’s sure of it.

“I’m fine,” she repeats for what must be the dozenth time, and as she does so wonders what she might have to do to prove it true. Even if she doesn’t believe herself. “I just need—I need—”

“She needs you to look at her runestone.” Catra steps up beside her, tail flicking feather-light against Adora’s thigh. “I know you looked at it before, but Entrapta, could you—?”

“Could I?” Entrapta’s grin, if it’s even possible, widens. “That’s actually number one on my list of things I’ve been wanting to do! Any runestone, even a corrupted one, is a treasure trove of unmined data! Imagine the uses—”

“Uh, we’re gonna put a hold on that train of thought,” Bow says with an uneasy glance at Adora. “Entrapta, could you just see if—uh—”

“I want it off.” Adora’s voice comes out unexpectedly strong, and harsher than she’d intended. All eyes snap to her, and without thinking, she draws back, then forces herself to straighten. “I need it off so I won’t be—”

She-Ra, ever again. She doesn’t say that. Instead, she swallows hard, the lump painful in her throat, and looks down to avoid any sympathetic eyes. She doesn’t deserve it, she knows, but she also remembers that the people who once were her friends are kind, and won’t begrudge her sympathy, even if she doesn’t deserve it. 

“We’ll get it off.” Glimmer’s voice is far too kind, and far too reassuring. Adora wants to tell her that she should yell at her, that she should scream and cry and throw her out, but she doesn’t remember if Glimmer’s the kind of person to do that. Probably, she isn’t.

“Well, I can at least take a look.” Entrapta steps toward the bedroom door, then pauses and turns back. “Did you want to bring anybody with you?”

Immediately, unbidden, Adora’s eyes fly to Catra. The moment they do, she knows she’s made a mistake. Catra steps forward, mouth already opening to volunteer, and Adora knows that she can’t let her. Even if some stupid, inconsequential part of her wants her to stay, none of that matters anymore. Nobody should stay with her, because she’s a danger to them all.

_Not to mention_ , a small, cruel voice whispers in the back of her head, _she never stayed in the first place_.

“No,” Adora says quickly, before Catra can get out whatever agreement lies upon her tongue. “I want to do it alone.”

“But—” Glimmer pipes up, but Adora doesn’t look at her, and neither does Catra. Instead, she looks at Adora, her brow crinkling, and just before her expression shuffles into cool indifference, something painful flashes across her face.

Rejection, and it hurts more than it should. Like a knife, twisting deep into the history between them. And somehow, even when Adora’s doing the right thing, what she knows is the right thing, she’s hurting somebody.

Maybe, she wonders miserably, that’s just her nature. 

“Okay.” Catra shrugs, and steps back, but she watches as Adora follows Entrapta until the room, and her eyes don’t leave until Adora makes sure to close the door behind her.

—————

The moment Adora closes the door, Catra whirls around, and wants to say something, but finds that she can’t. She’s on the verge of falling apart, she can feel it, everything inside her stuck like a lake piled up against a cracking dam. One wrong move, one wrong word, and it’ll all come bursting forth.

She doesn’t collapse. Instead, she lets out a low breath, and looks up at the other two.

They look as shaky as her, and she knows why. Because it takes so much energy, so much tension, just to hold it all in, the tears and the grief and the pointless anger, and to turn it instead into something calm and kind. It’s all Adora deserves, Catra knows that, but it’s not in her nature to give it, and that makes it nearly impossible. When Adora said she wanted to go alone, Catra could feel herself holding on by the skin of her teeth, and all she wanted to do was let go. For what, she wasn’t sure. To cry, maybe, or yell, or beg. To scream that things would be okay as if simply shouting the words would make them true.

When she glances again at the others, she notice that there are tears in their eyes.

“She doesn’t remember us that well, does she?” Bow asks, his upper lip trembling slightly. “She just looked so…”

He trails off, and Catra figures she can probably name a dozen words that would fit. Blank. Dead. Angry, and scared, and hurting, and pulling it all inside of her as if she could make it disappear, because that’s what Adora does. It’s what she calls dealing, except Catra knows it’s not dealing in any sense of the word. 

“She remembers some things, I think,” Catra tells them, though it’s a cold comfort. “But…I’m not sure how much.”

“Mayb Entrapta knows,” Glimmer replies hopefully, and Catra can see from the look in her face that she desperately wants to believe it. “Maybe we can talk to her after she looks at the runestone. She’s got to have some theories, at least. Entrapta always has theories.”

“Yeah, and a lot of the time they’re wrong,” Catra replies, only to wince internally at the bite to her voice. “Sorry. I mean, you might be right. It’s worth a shot, anyway.”

She half-turns then, and looks at their cards, still scattered across the floor. It had seemed a good idea at the time—a distraction, and a way to pass the time. Only now, in the wake of another miserable conversation, they seem trite and ridiculous.

“I should be in there,” she mutters to nobody in particular, and kicks at a stray card. “This is—this is dumb. We should be helping her, not—”

“Doing what she wants?” Bow asks, and when Catra looks up, he shoots her a sympathetic, if slightly pained smile—enough to tell her that it’s hurting him as well. “I get it, Catra. But we’re respecting her boundaries. That’s what friends do.”

“Yeah, and what if we respect her boundaries so far that she pushes us all away?” Catra snaps in a miserable voice. She doesn’t even bother to hide it. At this point, what does she care if Bow and Glimmer see through all her carefully wrought-walls? She’s lowered them too many times for them to be of any use, anyway.

“She won’t,” Glimmer says firmly, so firmly that Catra almost misses the slight waver of uncertainty in her voice. Almost. “She won’t. She’s Adora. And she remembers us, sort of!”

Catra just stares in disbelief. Then, she snorts. “Yeah, okay. That doesn’t change the fact that half her memories are gone. And if we can’t get them back—”

“Then we’ll just have to build new ones,” Glimmer says, her tone hard. After a moment, however, she relaxes, and draws back with a sigh. “Okay, I know. It’s hard. And it hurts. But we can’t give up hope. We just can’t.”

“Glimmer’s right.” Bow steps forward, his hand ghosting over Glimmer’s shoulder, and for a split second Catra is once again wondering if she’s missed something. “We have to be there for her at her own pace.”

“I am,” Catra replies, but it’s a losing battle and she knows it. So she huffs out a breath, and turns to the closed door behind her.

“I am,” she repeats, eyes boring into the door, some large part of her wishing she could be on the other side. “I just…I kept thinking we lost her, you know? I don’t want her to leave again, even if…she wants to.”

It’s hard to say, which is why Catra is facing the door, rather than the others. She doesn’t see their faces, but she can imagine the looks they’re sharing, the surprise.

“We won’t lose her, Catra.” Glimmer’s voice is soft, and more comforting than it has a right to be. “We’ll still be here, even if she tries to push us away.”

“Yeah, I mean, you don’t think she’s tried that before?” Bow’s voice, ever-friendly, is almost jokey, in a kind way. “That’s sort of Adora’s thing.”

“Yeah.” Catra lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “It really is, huh?”

Then she turns to face the others, steeling herself for the sympathy she knows she’s about to face. To her surprise, however, there’s none. Only kindness.

“You guys don’t have to stay,” Catra says. “I know you both have things to do with the Rebellion. But I’m going to wait here a little bit, okay?”

Glimmer and Bow exchange a fleeting glance, and then Glimmer nods.

“We’ll be back,” she says, “but I’m going to talk to my dad. I think he…he might want to apologize.”

“Maybe not yet,” Bow says before Catra can open her mouth, “but eventually. When Adora’s ready.”

“Huh.” Catra considers this for a moment, then nods. “Okay. Well, you know where to find me.”

Bow and Glimmer smile. “Right here?” Glimmer asks with a nod to the door, and despite herself, Catra smiles in return.

“Right here.”

—————

Adora doesn’t really want to be alone with Entrapta. Not with the new history that lies between them, and all that Entrapta’s seen. More than anyone, Adora knows, Entrapta bore witness to all the terrible things that Adora did, the crimes she committed. The very knowledge, the memories, of her actions, are enough to give Adora nightmares; the fact that somebody was there to see them is horrifying. 

But she refuses to bring her friends into possible danger, and the only reason she’s inviting Entrapta now is that she might be the key to fixing it. So Adora resigns herself to the fact, even as she hugs her arms across her chest and tries to make herself small, as if turning invisible could prevent the memory of what lies between them.

“Alright, hop onto the bed!” Entrapta crosses the room, pulling up the chair that Catra formerly occupied, and pats the nearby mattress. “Once you lie down, I’ll take a look!”

Adora hesitates, then does as she asks, crossing the room and settling onto the bed, body stretched out as if she might go to sleep.

“Should I…take off my shirt?” she asks, and Entrapta turns, surprise flashing across her face as if the very thought hadn’t occurred to her.

“To be honest, I was just going to cut it open.” She shrugs. “But sure, if that makes you feel better.”

It doesn’t, actually. Although she can feel that she’s wearing a sports bra underneath, baring naked skin is something terrifyingly defenseless. She’s not sure she wants to open herself up like that, though logically, there’s nothing to be feared.

But she’s not sure she wants Entrapta to cut her shirt open either. So after a moment, she hesitates, then pulls it over her head.

Immediately, Entrapta leans in, eyes fixed solely on her runestone as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“Ooh, it’s so shiny!” she crows, and reaches out a finger as if to touch, them seems to think better of it and draws back. “Okay, focus. Let’s get to work.”

Adora watches as Entrapta reaches into her toolbelt, and pulls out a variety of strange looking instruments. She lays each one on the bed, then picks up something vaguely sharp, and turns to Adora.

“Okay, this won’t hurt,” she says, then quickly amends. “Probably.”

“What—what are you doing?” Adora can’t help but ask as Entrapta bends over and brings the tool to the runestone at her chest. It’s a funny feeling when it touches, like pressing against a fingernail; no actual sensation, but the pressure underneath.

Entrapta glances up only for a moment, before her eyes slide back to the runestone. “Just taking some readings. Well, doing a quick scan. I already did something similar, but now that you’re awake, I should be able to get a better handle on what the runestone’s actually doing to me.”

“Doing to me?” Adora can feel her heart picking up speed, pounding between her ribs. Entrapta, however, only shrugs.

“Whether it’s hurting you, or having lasting effects,” she explains, then pulls back her tool and plugs it into what looks like a small scanner. She hums as she does so, a low, tuneless noise. It takes her a long moment to catch the look of paled fear on Adora’s face.

“Er, not that it should!” she hurries to add. “I mean, it might, but it probably won’t as long as you stay as Adora. And don’t try to transform.”

She runs a critical eye over Adora, as if suggesting she might do such a thing, when Adora has absolutely no plans to. “Other than that, we just need to gauge the effects on you. See how the runestone works with Adora, rather than She-Ra, so to speak.”

“Oh.” Adora is quiet, unsure what to say to this. Entrapta is being far too nice to her, it feels like, and it feels wrong. Her old friends she could understand, but Entrapta? Entrapta was there. She…saw.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” The thought falls from her brain to her tongue before she can stop it. “Why don’t you hate me?”

Or maybe she does. Maybe Adora shouldn’t be asking such a question, because she doesn’t want to hear the answer. She already knows the whole world should hate her. Why ask for confirmation of the truth?

But Entrapta only looks up at her in surprise. “I don’t hate you,” she sells, and her words ring with such honesty that Adora is taken aback. “Why would I hate you? You didn’t do anything to me. Well, She-Ra threw me in jail, but that wasn’t you.”

Adora stares. “But I—I am She-Ra.”

And she is, isn’t she? They share the same body, the same mind. Just because she can transform doesn’t make her another person. She’s still responsible.

And She-Ra is supposed to be a hero. Not a monster.

But Entrapta just shrugs. “Actually, that’s up to debate. According to some First Ones’ texts—”

Just then her scanner beeps, drawing her out of the start of what might have been a long explanation. Adora startles at the beep, but Entrapta just lets out a delighted noise and scoops it up, bringing the device so close to her face that her nose is nearly touching the screen.

“Oh, that’s—” And just then, her smile falls into a—not a frown, exactly. A strange look, one that Adora can’t parse, and her heart rate spikes for it.

“What?” she asks, and struggles into a sitting position. “What is it?”

Maybe she’s still She-Ra. The thought—the fear—swirls through her, stifling and hot. She-Ra is waiting within her, like some terrible darkness she can’t sweep away, and if she’s not careful she might—she might—

Entrapta lowers the device, and there’s still that strange look on her face, like she’s not quite sure of how to share the news she’s gotten.

“I think,” she says, her voice unusually quiet, “we should talk to the others.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! thank you so much for all the kind comments and messages, they legit mean the world!! sorry I'm a bit late with this one, I've been struggling with a direction the last couple of chapters BUT now i have one and I'm >: )
> 
> ALSO that being said: unfortunately updates are probably going to be every 1-2 days instead of every day, on the dot. This is just because I'm getting pretty busy real life wise, and I don't have as much time to write. ALSO, I think it benefits to go a little bit slower with these chapters, as I want them to be good! 
> 
> That's pretty much it, and also to all those who sent tumblr messages: <3 <3 <3 BLES U

For a moment, Adora only stares, heart pounding fast.

“Why?” she asks, her tongue suddenly thick with fear. “What is it? Why can’t you tell me?”

Because they don’t trust her, a voice inside her head screams, and isn’t that what she deserves anyway? She shouldn’t even be lying here, like a patient under a doctor’s care, but rather—

But Entrapta only leaps to her feet, that strange look on her facing sliding into ill-practiced reassurance.

“Because I don’t want to repeat myself!” she says, and extends a hand. Adora doesn’t take it. “No offense, but it takes forever to explain things to you people. Also, I have an idea, and I think they might be able to help.”

“Help with what?” Adora levers herself to her feet, grabbing her shirt and pulling it on as Entrapta starts toward the doorway, hair waving around her. “En—Entrapta—” It feels strange to say her name, wrong somehow— “what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how your runestone—” Entrapta reaches the door and pulls it open. “Might be—oh, Catra. Where is everybody?”

Catr leaps to her feet, eyes flying immediately to Adora, though they linger for only a moment before moving back to Entrapta. “They went to, uh, talk to somebody. What’s up? Is everything okay?”

“Sort of,” Entrapta says, only to backtrack. “Well, not really. Could be. I need to do more research, but—”

“Entrapta.” Catra’s tone is flat, sharpened at the edges with a near-missable urgency. “What. Did. You. Find.”

“Er, well—” Entrapta hesitates, then glances down the hallway. “I should really wait for—’’

“No.” This time it’s Adora who steps up, urged on by the brewing panic in her stomach. “Tell me. Now.”

Catra throws her a glance, but doesn’t object or otherwise refute. Instead, she only looks relieved. 

“You heard her, Entrapta.” She nods toward Adora, who almost smiles in return, before remembering that she shouldn’t. A smile is a connection, and a connection is friendship, and that’s far too dangerous for her. Not with what she’s done. Not with the blood on her hands.

“Uh—” Entrapta looks between them, then glances down the hall. “O…kay. I mean, it’s only because Bow and Glimmer should hear this too, especially since Glimmer is queen and has the authority to, uh, send a ship into _space!_ ”

“What?!”

Both Adora and Catra speak at once. Entrapta swings her head between the two of them, then holds her hands up quickly.

“Okay, let me explain.” Without asking, she steps forward and taps a finger against Adora’s runestone, glowing sickly green underneath her shirt. Adora pulls back, and Entrapta immediately does as well. “Uh, sorry. Not a machine. Okay, so here’s the thing. The runestone, as She-Ra, and apparently as Adora too, aligns its activity with your brain activity, which was why I didn’t pick up too much while you were asleep. Now that you’re awake, however—”

She grins and turns to face the both of them, looking as excited as a kid at a birthday party. “I was able to pick up so much more! Like, for instance, I was able to confirm that the runestone acted as Adora’s vessel for Horde Prime’s network, only what I didn’t realize—”

She spins around and jabs a finger at Adora, who shrinks back in surprise— “is that Horde Prime didn’t just corrupt your runestone! He used _First Ones’_ technology to do it!”

“What?” Both Catra and Adora stare. Distantly, Adora knows that’s supposed to mean something, but it’s not coming to her. Her memories are patchy, all the recent stuff gone over like a broom over sand. 

First One’s tech. It takes her a moment to put the pieces together. 

“My sword is First One’s tech.” She looks up, meeting the gazes of the others, and can tell immediately that they already know. “The runestone—”

“Is also First Ones’ tech!” Entrapta says. “Which we already knew, of course, but now it’s augmented! Horde Prime added something, which means—”

“Which means what?” Catra steps forward, tail flicking back and forth. “Entrapta. Is that bad?”

Entrapta frowns, her gazing moving beyond Catra as she considers the question. “Well, not exactly. It could be terrible—or great,” she adds quickly at the look on Adora’s face. “But that’s not the problem. The problem is that we can’t get it off without destroying the runestone. And possibly Adora.”

“I don’t care about the runestone,” Adora says quickly, before Catra can open her mouth to speak. “I want it off. I want to be sure it’s not going to bring She-Ra back, or control me, or—”

“Hang on!” Catra interrupts, her tail flicking even faster now, her eyes darting between Entrapta and Adora. “Adora, she just said it might _destroy_ you. You can’t risk that!”

“Yes, I can!” Adora spins to face her, with such abruptness that Catra takes a step back. “That’s not important, Catra! We have to get the runestone off before She-Ra hurts anybody else!”

“Yeah, but we don’t even _know_ if She-Ra will come back!” Catra responds, tail fluffing, ears flattening, and Adora can practically see her familiar temper rising up, and welcomes it. Good—Catra should be angry at her. This is only the response she deserves, too-late and misdirected though it might be. “Adora, you can’t risk your life for the off-chance that—”

“What do you care about my life?” Adora bursts out. Catra’s eyes widen, but at this point, Adora doesn’t bother slowing down. “Why should you care, Catra? Why do any of you care? Why are you even—why are you even helping me? You should get the runestone out and then stick me in a prison so you never have to look at me again! Don’t you get that I deserve that?”

Catra draws back, momentarily speechless. Her eyes roam over Adora’s face, a strange look held within, and then she shakes her head slowly.

“Adora, I told you, I’m not giving up on you,” she says quietly. “I know I’m not…the friend you want me to be. But can’t you let me try?”

For a long moment, Adora doesn’t have an answer. She only stares, and somewhere in the midst of the silence, notes Entrapta’s awkward shifting of feet.

Catra doesn’t get it, Adora realizes. She’s thinking that Adora doesn’t want her, that she’s leaving once again because she doesn’t like Catra. But it’s never been about that, never at all.

It’s about Adora, and everything she’s done, and how much she doesn’t matter now. How little her life is worth, in comparison to all she’s taken—and worse, all she remembers taking. Because she doesn’t just remember the killing, but the feeling behind it, the cruel joy and the purpose and the knowledge—the thought—that everything she was doing was right.

It scares her that she remembers it, because to remember the believing is one step away from believing the thought itself. And if she slips—

“You don’t understand.” She takes a step back, shaking her head, and with it so too does petulant anger rise up in her, because Catra never understood. “You don’t get it. I don’t—you shouldn’t be my friend, Catra. None of you.” She glances to Entrapta, and then glances away again, because she can’t bear to see what Entrapta knows. It’s worse, knowing that somebody watched you go through it; watched you, and couldn’t stop you. 

“Adora—” Catra steps forward, hurt rising in her tone, and Adora wrenches her gaze back to her.

“No.” She cuts her off in a voice firm enough to hide the trembling of her heart, the ache in her chest. “You shouldn’t even try to be my friend, Catra! It’s not worth it.”

“Oh, you really think?” Anger flashes in Catra’s eyes, and she takes another step forward, tail lashing back and forth. “You think that’s gonna stop me?”

Entrapta nods along with this in agreement. “She’s right, Adora, if you look at it logically—”

“No!” Adora whips around to face her, and then, at Entrapta’s surprise, steps back. Her heart is beating fast, annoyance shifting into frustration into anger, because they don’t _understand_. “None of you get what I’m saying! I don’t want you to try to be my friend! It’s not—”

“If you say it’s not worth it one more time, we’re going to fight about it,” Catra growls, and Adora can tell that she means it. Her claws, possibly unnoticed, have come unsheathed, and she’s balancing on the tips of her toes, as if ready to strike.

Catra always wore her anger so easily, and used it too. Adora can’t use it—she’s never been able to. It only strikes her blindly, like lightning scorching the earth, unexpected and uncontrollable. She doesn’t get angry often—at least, she doesn’t think so—but in this moment, she feels it more than anything, a cherry on top of a sundae of fear and guilt and panic, or maybe it’s more like a straw on the camel’s back, because the moment it hits, she breaks.

“Fine!” Adora spins around to face Catra and pushes right into her face, fists curling, teeth gritted, jaw tight. Catra draws back in surprise, but only slightly. Then her eyes narrow, and Adora can practically see what she’s thinking.

_C’mon, Adora. Get it all out._

Because Catra fights her feelings away, and Adora—Adora doesn’t know what she does. She wants to fight, or rather she wants to take Catra by the shoulders and shake her until she realizes what’s wrong with her, trying to be friends with a monster, and all she can think is maybe, just maybe, if she gives in, Catra will realize who she is. That they’ll fight, hard enough to hurt, and Adora will prove that she’s exactly what she says she is.

That she’s not worth it.

“Well?” Catra’s eyes are searching hers, though for what, Adora doesn’t know. Her voice is taunting, but there’s a tight edge to it too, like she’s trying so hard to keep everything together that it slips out through the cracks anyway. “Are we going to fight, or are you going to let me help you?”

Adora sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm the feeling in her chest. Anger like this is new to her, and scary, and part of her wants to give in to it but the other part is afraid of what it will bring. “I—”

“Don’t think fighting is the right choice, actually!” Entrapta steps forward, one hand pushing between them, forcing both Catra and Adora to jump back. They do, the spell suddenly shattering, and that’s when a wave of shame crashes over Adora.

She’s supposed to be avoiding—everything. Hiding from the world and her friends, because who knows what she might inflict, but instead Catra has reached out and snagged her by the claws, dragging her blinking into a harsh light she’d rather not face. She’s always been like that, Catra—always been good at pulling Adora to places she’s not sure she wants to go. 

And Adora had almost given into it.

“Actually, instead of fighting—or removing your runestone and possibly killing you,” Entrapta says with a glance to Adora, her hands still splayed as if to stop a burgeoning fight, “I have a better idea!”

Both Adora and Catra look at her, but it’s Catra who gets the words out first. “What is it?”

Entrapta grins, so broadly it might break her face. “A road trip!”

Adora stares. “What?” 

A road trip sounds like the worst idea in the world. Stuck in an enclosed space with the very people she needs to avoid for their own protection? She can already feel the ‘no’ rising to her tongue.

Before she can get to it, however, Catra asks the most obvious question.

“Um, excuse me, but how the hell is a road trip going to help us get Adora out of danger?” She’s looking at Entrapta as if she’s gone crazy, and Adora can’t help but agree with the sentiment, if not the words.

But Entrapta’s grin just widens, as if that’s the very question she’s been waiting for. 

“ _Because_ , that runestone—” she jabs a finger at Adora’s chest— “is augmented with First Ones’ tech! Tech that, with Horde Prime’s entire database at my disposal, I can track! Which means—” she whirls to face Adora, who steps back without thinking— “if we can find the source he used to augment your runestone, not only could we find out more about the First Ones, but we can also understand more about your runestone! Which is the key to understanding the technology that powers She—” she pauses at a significant glance from Catra, then backpedals. “Er, I mean, making sure you don’t die.”

“Okay.” Catra has her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, looking significantly unconvinced. “So you’re saying instead of, I don’t know, actually working out what’s wrong, we go on a space road trip?”

“And why can’t we just take it out again?” Adora asks, ignoring the harsh look Catra immediately tosses her.

Entrapta groans, and runs an exasperated hand over her hair. “No, not instead of! Along with. As I study the runestone, we also venture out among the stars to find the source, which will be the key to understanding how to safely disable it!”

“You mean remove it?” Adora asks eagerly. This time, Catra’s huff of annoyance is obvious.

“Fine, I get you.” She steps forward, arms dropping to her sides, and shoots Adora a short look before returning her gaze to Entrapta. “You’re saying this is the only way to _safely_ remove the runestone?”

“Well, I could do the research here…” Entrapta cradles her chin with a long lock of hair, considering. “Problem is, it would go much faster if I could understand just what he did to it. Which means I have to understand what it’s made of, which means—”

“You need the source.” Catra nods, her gaze sour, though Adora can’t understand why. Isn’t this what she wanted? “Okay, so you’re saying we take Mara’s ship—”

“Nope!” Entrapta says, popping the ‘p’. “Not Mara’s old ship! _Horde Prime’s_.”

She says it with awe, near-literal stars in her eyes, as if she’s visualizing the very possibility in front of her. Catra frowns, and opens her mouth to respond, but never gets there.

“No. No way.” Adora’s shaking her head even as she steps back, not stopping until her shoulders hit the door behind her. “No. I can’t go on there.”

Entrapta stares at her, puzzled. “Well, you sort of have to. I mean, no offense to the Bow and Catra’s work, but Mara’s ship just doesn’t have the capability for such a long trip. Not to mention, if we take Horde Prime’s ship, I’ll have all the necessary tools to examine—”

“No.” Adora shakes her head again, blind panic rising in her, and, out of desperation, scrabbles for the handle behind her. All of a sudden, her lungs are constricted within her chest, her ribs squeezing together. She can’t breathe for it, and all she can think is that she has to get away, she can’t be here— “You can’t make me go back there. I won’t.”

Won’t, because the last time she was there, she sat on his throne. Won’t, because even though she remembers having clones dispose of his body, she felt his presence afterward anyway, lingering as if just over her shoulder, malevolent and accusatory.

She can’t go into that ship. Which means she’ll rip the runestone out herself if need be.

“Adora—” Catra steps forward, but Adora just cringes away, her hands scrabbling for the door handle. 

“I won’t,” she repeats blindly, fear getting the best of her, and just when she thinks she won’t be able to take it anymore, she won’t be able to breathe, she finds the door handle and yanks it down, sending her entire body tumbling backwards. 

“Adora, wait!” Catra lunges after her, but she shoves her away, even as she can feel the tears coming.

“Get away from me!” she cries, her voice cracking hideously, and turns, practically falling into her room. Behind her, she hears Catra tell Entrapta something that sounds like ‘I’ll get her’, but doesn’t have time to hear more before she slams the door in her face.

At least, she thinks it’s her face. She doesn’t look behind her to see. Instead, overwhelmed with guilt and bubbling panic, she sinks to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, and wonders why she can’t deal with this. She’s supposed to be able to. She’s supposed to be strong, the hero of Etheria.

Or she was. Now she’s just a murderer and a girl all in one, no more and no less, and though in one way it strikes her as incredibly unfair, in another, it only seems like she’s getting her due.

Behind her, somebody pounds against the door, but she ignores it. Instead, she only buries her head in her knees, and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay i don't think catra handled this well, but I also feel like she has her own issues to figure out, so I'd be remiss to let her handle things *too* perfectly, ya know?
> 
> also if u follow me on tumblr u probably know that i do a lot of art (or try to) and i might start doing art for this fic because hey, i just realized i can. so if you're curious to see my interpretations i might start putting stuff up!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, this morning: what a perfect time to finish this chapter!  
> my family, barging into my room: if we dont do a family hike Right Now we will die
> 
> sorry this took a sec, but here it is! and as always, thank you so much for the kind responses <3

Catra should have know she’d screw it up. 

That’s all she can think as she bangs against the door, harder than she should but not as hard as she wants to, and prays that Adora will let her in.

“Uh, did I do something wrong?” Entrapta asks tentatively, fledgling guilt on her face, and for a second, Catra wants to let her have it.

But that’s the old Catra, not the new Catra. So Catra pauses in her knocking, then sucks in a breath and turns to face her.

“No, you didn’t,” she says, and tries to mean it. A part of her still wants to yell, just because Adora’s upset, and if Adora’s upset, Catra would rather point fingers than blame herself. Of course, she does blame herself, but it’s so much easier to start yelling as well. “She’s just…”

Then she pauses, stymied. Because she’s not sure what Adora is. Upset, certainly. Traumatized, without a doubt. But there’s something new going on, or maybe it’s something that Adora’s always had, this hero complex, which has now turned into a guilt complex. It’s not something Catra knows how to deal with.

She always knew that Adora carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, whether it was asked of her or not. She’d just never really wondered what would happen if it fell.

Now, she knows.

“She’s just…got a lot to deal with,” she says, which is both the truth, and only a piece of it. “And you didn’t do anything wrong. I, uh, like your idea of a finding the source.”

_Especially if it’s the only thing that will help Adora_ , Catra thinks, but doesn’t say out loud. Instead, she says, “But are you sure we can’t take Mara’s ship?”

Entrapta frowns. “Well, I’d have to take a look, but judging by the technology in Adora’s runestone, it doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen this side of the universe. And I was running scans for First Ones’ tech the entire time we were in space!”

Catra sighs. “Of course you were.” Behind her, the door is a solid barrier, one she’s tempted to tear through. Instead, she leans against it. “And you think Horde Prime’s ship will do the job?”

Entrapta’s eyes take on a gleam, one Catra has learned to recognize. “Oh, definitely. The technology on that ship—” she breaks off and shakes her head. “It’s a-mazing! I’d just love to exa—” she trails off at the look on Catra’s face, and hastily backs up. “Uh, I mean, it will definitely get us wherever we need to go. Not to mention, it’s got exactly what we need to study Adora’s runestone, so I can make sure she’s not in danger!”

“Uh huh.” Catra mulls this over for a moment, considering. She doesn’t exactly like the idea, mainly because she doesn’t like space, and she knows that Adora doesn’t like the idea. But leaving her behind would mean that she’d be as good as helpless without Entrapta, which catches her between a rock and a hard place.

Catra doesn’t like it. Any of it. But, though she’s looking, she can’t find another option.

“Okay, well—” She straightens and turns toward the door, then sighs. “Okay, I’ll talk to her about it. And, uh, Entrapta—?”

“Huh?” Entrapta, in the time Catra has taken to think, has busied herself studying a device that looks like a scanner—possibly the one she used to take her readings from Adora.

“Uh, there’s not anything else, is there?” she says, then hesitates, feeling both stupid and overprotective. “I mean, the runestone—you said you don’t know if it’ll have an effect on Adora. Like, a long-term one, right? But for now, she’s okay?”

“Oh, sure!” Entrapta says, then pauses, and, for a moment, really thinks about it. “Well—”

“Well what?” Catra steps forward, sudden apprehension flaring in her chest. “What is it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, probably!” Entrapta says, but there’s a crease between her brow as she examines her scanner. She studies it for a moment, then tilts her head. “Okay, not nothing, but not something either.”

“Entrapta.” Catra’s voice is entirely flat. “Tell me what it is.”

Entrapta winces at her tone, then tilts the scanner around so Catra can see the screen. “Okay, so, you see those black marks? By the red lines?”

Catra peers closer, then nods. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“Right! Well, the red lines indicate the activity of the runestone. Which, if I look closer, I can break apart and analyze. That’s how I discovered the augmented First One’s tech.” She turns the scanner back to herself and begins to fiddle with it as she speaks. “But the black bits indicate something else. Or actually, nothing else. More accurately, stuff that’s giving off no readings.”

“What does that mean?” Catra asks, forcing her voice to stay even. She can already feel the tension and worry brewing in her stomach, and distantly, one part of her wonders if this is the thing that’ll turn her hair gray. Specifically, this whole situation together.

Entrapta wrinkles her nose. “Honestly? It’s probably nothing. That’s why I didn’t mention it before. This scanner is pretty rudimentary, and there’s plenty of things in the universe that it can’t identify. So it might just be—” she flutters her fingers— “stuff. On the other hand—”

“On the other hand, what?” It takes all of Catra’s strength to stop herself from growling.

Entrapta shrugs. “It might be something to worry about. I don’t know. For now it’s fine, but if I could use the scanners on Horde Prime’s ship—” 

She casts a meaningful glance to Adora’s door, and Catra catches her drift. The faster Adora gets onto Horde Prime’s ship, the faster they’ll be able to figure out what, if anything, is wrong with her.

Which means it’s up to Catra to convince her.

“Alright,” she says with a look toward the door. “I can talk to her. You just…uh, you can wait here. If you want. Or, you know, do whatever.”

“Sure!” Entrapta chirps, though she looks slightly uneasy, as if she doesn’t like the ambiguity of the direction. Still, after a moment she turns on her heel, and Catra takes the opportunity to turn back to face the door.

“Adora?” She raises her hand to knock, then hesitates and calls again. “Can…can I come in?”

There’s no answer. Then again, the door is thick enough that she probably wouldn’t hear anything less than a yell. Catra deliberates for a moment, weighing the pros and cons, and then decides that she’s too worried to take it slow.

“I’m coming in,” she calls, and can only hope that Adora can hear before she presses down on the handle.

There’s no response, not even a protest, so Catra decides to take that as a good sign. Carefully, she presses down until she hears the click lock, then pushes the door inward, waiting for—something. An angry shout, or some sort of objection.

She gets nothing. Instead, all she hears is a soft sniffle, coming from the right of the door, just inside the room.

“Adora?” Catra pulls the door open wider, and steps fully inside, eyes searching the room. 

It doesn’t take long to find her—namely, because she clear hadn’t gotten two steps past the door. She’s sitting with her back pressed against the wall, her knees once more to her chest, her face red and puffy, though she isn’t crying.

Though from the sniffle Catra heard coming in, she can guess that she probably was.

“I didn’t hear you say I couldn’t come in.” Catra takes another, careful step inside, and allows the door to swing shut behind her. “So I came in.”

Adora snorts, though it’s closer to another sniffle. “Clearly. Why won’t you leave me alone?”

Catra ignores the bite in her tone to step forward until she’s standing just in front of her. “You know why.”

Adora glances up at her, then looks away and brings a hand up to wipe roughly at her eyes. “You don’t have to comfort me.”

“Not here to comfort you.” That’s a lie, but Catra is willing to improvise. Carefully, she squats down so as to be level with Adora, then, when Adora doesn’t protest, lowers herself into a sitting position and moves against the wall so they’re side by side. Then, she pulls her knees to her chest in a mirroring movement, and looks up at the ceiling high above.

“You just gonna mope forever?” 

Adora doesn’t answer. Distantly, Catra realizes that that might have been the wrong thing to say, but the problem is, she doesn’t know what the right thing to say might be. She feels sort of odd, sitting here, an echo of the many times they comforted each other as children, and though in some ways it’s very similar, in others it’s entirely not.

Adora was the same as a child as she is now, in many ways. She couldn’t be weak, or at least not in public. If she got sick, she hid, and not just because that was the Horde’s policy. It was also something deeper, something Catra couldn’t name at the time but now realizes must be a way of keeping herself strong, even when she’s not.

If they can’t see her being weak, it’s almost as if she’s not being weak at all. Though of course, that’s not how it works at all.

For a long moment, Catra only stares at the ceiling, considering this. Then, she drops her head and lets out a sigh.

“I like sitting here with you,” she says, the words coated in awkward honesty. “It’s, uh, nice. Like when we were kids.”

Beside her, Adora lets out a noise of disbelief. “Catra, I know you’re here because I ran away crying. You don’t have to pretend.”

“I’m not pretending,” Catra says, annoyance turning the words quick. “I mean, you did run away crying. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like sitting here. They can be different things, you know.”

Adora doesn’t immediately answer. Instead she stares with red-rimmed eyes at the floor in front of her, gaze distant and unseeing, and then she drops her head and lets out a low breath.

“Fine,” she says, the word bitter and short. “But I’m not talking about my feelings. And I’m not going on that ship.”

“Uh—okay.” In truth, Catra doesn’t like talking about feelings, even though she feels like they probably should. Still, she’s not sure it’s the time to push, not when she’s already been granted a slight victory. “Well, the ship—”

“No.” Adora’s voice is entirely flat, brooking no argument. “You c-can’t—” she pauses, sucking in a heavy breath— “you can’t make me go back in there. It’s not—it’s not fair.”

Her voice teeters off at the end, turning small and uncertain, so much so that Catra’s heart breaks all over again, and in that moment, she wants to vow that she’ll never let Adora near that ship again.

But according to Entrapta, she doesn’t have another option. At least, not at the moment.

“Adora—” she starts, then stops, unsure how to proceed. “I know it’s hard. I swear, I get it. But I can’t let you just—I can’t let you be in danger from that thing.”

She jabs her chin towards the chip, which glows sickly green beneath her shirt. Adora glances down at it, then lets out a laugh.

“Then why don’t you just take it out?”

“And risk your life?” Catra stares, and briefly, wonders how many times they’ll have this argument. “I won’t do that.”

She expects Adora to lash out again, even to yell, but instead, she just hugs her knees tighter. “Why is it your choice?”

“Uh—” For a moment, Catra just stares, unsure how to answer. “Because—”

Because if left to her own devices, Adora will choose whatever is the most self-sacrificing. Because she’d rather trade her life than try to live it, and she’s been doing that for years, though it’s only been recently that Catra’s seen it.

“Because it’s not yours either,” she says at last, and she isn’t sure if it’s the right answer, but it rings with honesty at the very least. “Adora, you have people who care about you. I care about you. You can’t just—you can’t just—toss them to the side.”

Adora seems to shrink in on herself, digging her chin into the tops of her shins. “I’m not trying to do that,” she whispers, but her voice is halfhearted and they can both hear the truth. “I just—I’m trying to keep you safe.”

For a moment, Catra stares. Then, she lets out a laugh. “From what? From you?”

Though Adora doesn’t answer, she does cringe slightly, just enough to let Catra know that she’s hit upon the right answer. 

“Okay, well,” Catra says slowly, carefully feeling out her next response. “I guess I get it. I mean, I do. I really, really do.”

And that’s true too, because of course Catra understands what it feels like to be the bad one, the out of control, the evil friend. She wishes she could tell Adora that the feeling will go away, or that it’s as easy as your friends telling you you’re wrong, but it isn’t. It’s only recently that Catra’s even begun to accept that she might have friends, never mind that she might belong amongst the good guys.

What must it feel like for Adora, if even Catra feels such a way?

“Okay, but the thing is,” she continues, “you remember how I joined you, right?”

She’s asking because she’s not sure Adora does. If Adora doesn’t remember saving Catra, then she might not remember anything that came after. It’s a surprise and a blessing that she even remembers Catra at all, Catra thinks, and one she’s grateful for.

“Um—” Adora screws up her face, thinking, then after several moments, gives up with a sigh.

“I don’t—” She gives a small, defeated shake of her head. “I remember some things. But not recent things. I think—I think he took—”

She struggles for a second, then breaks off and goes quiet.

“He took things that didn’t matter,” she says after a moment, her voice low, almost ashamed. “I guess that was one of them.”

Catra stares, heart splitting at the seams. “Oh,” she says dumbly, and wishes in that moment more than anything that she could yank Adora close and hold her until she makes sure that nobody touches her ever again, but she knows that she can’t. It’s a line they haven’t really crossed, even before Adora got taken, and besides that, she knows that Adora doesn’t want it.

She’s made it very clear that she wants her space.

“Okay, but it is,” she says after a few seconds of silent grappling for her voice. “Important, I mean. Because when I came back, you sort of—you told me something important. Which I guess you don’t remember, but I haven’t forgotten.”

Adora’s still staring at the floor, but at Catra’s words, she raises her head and looks at her, her eyes still puffy and red, tears drying on her cheeks. 

“What?”

Catra takes in a deep breath, and wonders if this will hurt Adora to hear as much as it hurt her to hear. “You told me I can’t hide from the people I hurt. And you haven’t hurt me the way I hurt you, but I know you won’t believe that anyway, so it’s pretty much the same advice. Or at least, you should listen to it like I did.”

She doesn’t look at Adora as she says this—she’s too afraid she won’t take to the idea. And indeed, for several moments, there’s no reply at all, not even a huff or a sigh or one of those disbelieving snorts.

After a good ten seconds, Catra summons up the courage to give Adora a sidelong glance, just to check her mental state. Unfortunately, there’s not much to go on. Adora’s still hugging her knees to her chest, still staring at the floor, giving nothing away.

Then she says: “Is that something I would say?”

The question takes Catra aback—maybe because it’s so obvious. And before she knows it, she’s laughing, more than she probably should, given the circumstances.

“Adora,” she manages to get out, “that’s the most you thing you could say. That’s just—the kind of person you are.”

“Yeah?” This time, Adora does raise her head slightly, though she doesn’t take her eyes off the floor. “And what kind of a person am I?”

It’s a challenge. Catra can tell that easily enough. Still, she doesn’t back down.

“You’re the kind of person that won’t let me get away with being a bad person,” she says, “so I’m not going to let you get away with it either.”

Then she hesitates, and says the thing she very much doesn’t want to say, but knows she has to, if only because it’s been weighing her down for months. “And I’m—I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to stop this in the first place. I shouldn’t have left.”

Adora doesn’t respond to this—or at least, not in the way that Catra might have hoped. Instead, she lets out a low sigh, and drops her chin to rest upon her knees.

“It’s not your fault,” she says, and Catra can’t tell if she believes it or if she’s just saying it. “I just want it to be over.”

“It will be,” Catra reassures her, and prays that she’s telling the truth. “And it’ll go much faster if we just—”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” Adora’s voice is hard, effectively ending Catra’s weak, probing attempt. “I told you, I’m not going.”

“Okay, but—” Catra hesitates, and her eyes flutter briefly to the runestone, almost visible beneath her shirt, and she swallows hard. Is it worth pushing it?

Of course it’s worth pushing it. Her life is on the line. But that doesn’t mean she wants to.

“Can we talk about it later?” she asks, and when Adora doesn’t answer, reaches out tentatively, hand hovering by her knee but not touching. “Adora, please.”

Adora hesitates, arms tightening around her knees. Then she nods, once.

“Fine.” The word is short, bitter with defeat, but it’s enough for Catra. She lets out a sigh, and leans her head back against the wall, relief filling her chest.

“Thank you,” she says, and means it. “I can—I can go if you want. Unless you want me to stay.”

She’s pretty sure Adora doesn’t want her to. In fact, she’s already readying herself to go when Adora gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

“It’s okay.” Her voice is as imperceptible as the nod, so much so that Catra nearly misses it. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh.” For a moment, Catra doesn’t move out of sheer surprise. Then, she lowers herself back into a sitting position, this time just a hair’s breadth away from Adora.

Maybe it’s a risk, sitting so close. Maybe it’s pure selfishness, her desire to be close winning out over her ability to focus on Adora’s needs. But Adora doesn’t protest, nor does she move away. Instead, she just curls tighter in on herself, and that’s it.

“Thanks,” Catra tells her, and when Adora doesn’t answer, pulls her own knees to her chest and waits.

For what, she doesn’t know. For how long, she has no idea either. But if Adora wants her here, she sure as hell isn’t leaving. She’s spent way too long away to lose the chance that she has.

So she’ll take what she can get.

—————

Entrapta wanders for a long while, and is lost for a lot longer than that. It’s only when she winds up back at Adora’s door does she realize where she’s at, and that’s when she decides that she should probably do something.

“Catra?” She raises her hand to knock, but hesitates, unsure if she should. “I’m going to talk to Bow and Glimmer about the plan. And, er, about the runestone. Did you talk to Adora?”

There’s no answer. Then again, maybe they just can’t hear her. The door is, after all, unusually thick. So after a moment of deliberation, rather than knocking, Entrapta reaches out to try the door handle.

It opens easily—not locked then. Probably a good sign, unless it isn’t. Still, Entrapta creaks the door open, then steps inside, caution leading her.

“Catra?” She glances around, eyes roaming over the room. “Did you two talk? Are we going to spa—oh.”

She finds them after only a second, and gathers absolutely no answer from the situation. They’re on the floor, right near the door, propped against the wall, and fast asleep. She’s not sure who fell asleep first, but makes an educated guess; Adora is the one with her head against Catra’s shoulder, her mouth open slightly, breaths coming slowly.

Entrapta frowns, and mentally reviews the past events. It makes sense that Adora would fall asleep—she’s not fully recovered from the events, and Entrapta predicts plenty of naps for the next few days. Catra, on the other hand—well, Entrapta doesn’t have access to her brainwaves, but she does know that Catra has been a near constant at Adora’s bedside. Maybe naps are in order for her as well.

Which means she probably shouldn’t disturb them. So Entrapta shuts her mouth, then retreats gracefully through the door, making sure to close it behind her.

Oh well. She has plenty to do in the meantime. After all, if they are going into space—which is the only logical step—she has an entire ship to prepare. 

That, and two more people to fill in on the events. So with a glance down the hallway, Entrapta turns on her heel and sets off, leaving Catra and Adora to their sleep.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY IM BACK
> 
> ok i was TRYING to update yesterday but life kept getting in the way and i kept having to Do things which is lame but im back now
> 
> thank you for all the kind comments and kudos, they really make my day!

By the time Entrapta has found Bow and Glimmer, night has fallen and her hands are getting itchy.

“So you’re saying…we need to go to space?” Glimmer glances to Bow, who is only watching Entrapta closely. Entrapta, for her part, nods and licks her lips nervously.

She had expected more enthusiasm. Okay, maybe hadn’t expected, but…hoped.

“That’s the idea!” She says, and, for lack of anything better to do, claps her hands together. “Think about it! If we find the source of the augmentations to Adora’s chip, not only will we figure out how to get it off, but we’ll learn more about First Ones’ tech than ever before!”

They don’t seem to be as enthusiastic about the second part as she is. Still, Bow is watching her with a serious, contemplative look on his face, and after a moment he draws back and nods. 

“Okay,” he says, then shifts, uncertain. “But taking Horde Prime’s ship…?”

Entrapta nods eagerly. “It’s perfect! It’s the most high tech ship out there, and I know how to fly it! Not to mention, Adora might have some latent access to whatever kind of data Horde Prime has stored in his network. Unlikely, but worth a shot.”

“Okay, but that’s the thing,” Glimmer cuts in. “You said Adora doesn’t want to go on the ship. Entrapta, we can’t bring her back to a place that traumatized her.”

“Yeah.” Even Bow is nodding, which is disappointing, because Entrapta had hoped he’d be on her side. “Entrapta, she has too many bad memories there. Why can’t we fix up Mara’s ship?”

“That thing?” Entrapta wrinkles her nose, trying hard to hide her disappointment. “I mean, I can look at it. But last time, it took a relatively short trip to space and didn’t do all that well. Whereas with Horde Prime’s ship, that’s high-class transportation.”

“Also a brainwashing murder ship,” Glimmer says. “But okay. Okay. You can look at Mara’s ship for sure. Just…” She hesitates then. “Don’t throw it out just because, okay? We should really try to fix it up first. At least for Adora’s sake.”

“Yeah, and also is anybody else worried about using the ship of the person who tried to kill us?” Bow tentatively raises his hand, then lowers it when the other two cast him a glance. “Okay, maybe just me. But I think it bears stating anyway.”

“Bow is right,” Glimmer decides, and shoots Entrapta an apologetic glance. “Sorry, Entrapta. But I think we need to check out Mara’s ship first. At least.”

“Oh. Okay.” Briefly, Entrapta considers the idea of sabotage, then remembers that these are her friends, and sabotage is for machines and enemies only. The latter of which, for the most part, doesn’t exist.

“Well then.” She brightens, only a little forcibly on her part, and uses her hair to swing herself into a standing position. “Great! I’ll take a look. Which way is the ship.”

“I can show you.” Bow gets to his feet as well, then grimaces. “And, Entrapta…”

“Hmmm?” She’s too busy looking through her toolbelt to glance up, but she does catch the uncertain shift of his feet.

“Before I show you, just know that me and Catra definitely did our best,” he says, and this time she really does look up, pinning him with a suspicious look.

“Did you break my ship?”

Immediately, his hands go up in defense. “No! Not at all! At least, we got the communication system working great. That’s good, right?”

“Hmmm.” Entrapta studies him for a moment, then shrugs. “Alright. C’mon, let’s go see how much you broke my ship!”

“It’s not—” Bow starts, then stops, and sighs. “Okay, yeah. I’ll lead the way.”

“Great!” Entrapta bounds after him, and doesn’t pay much attention to the helpless look he shoots Glimmer on the way off. She’s already making plans, most of which involve Mara’s ship.

But a few involve Horde Prime’s too, just in case.

—————

When Catra wakes up, the first thing she notices is that it’s very dark. Which is not good—she’s pretty sure it wasn’t dark, or at least this dark, when she fell asleep. In fact, she can’t even remember falling asleep, but only remembers Adora falling asleep, remembers her head lolling against her shoulder and being too afraid to move—not that she wanted to.

She doesn’t matter what came after, though that apparently seems to have been a nap.

“Okay,” she mutters to herself, trying to quell the slight panic that’s rising because she’s _not sure what to do_. They haven’t slept together like this since they were kids, and it’s intimate in a way that has Catra’s cheeks burning, even though she knows they shouldn’t be. She shouldn’t be feeling like this at all, actually, because not only does Adora not look at her that way, but she probably won’t ever, not with the way she’s treating her. 

Not that such a thing is important, anyway. The only thing that’s important right now is Adora, and her boundaries, which is why Catra is panicking, because this is definitely crossing that.

And now she’s stuck in a pickle, because if she wakes her up (which she’s not sure she should), Adora will only retreat again, which Catra sort of doesn’t want her to do. Not when she’s so close, and warm against her shoulder, snoring softly the exact same way she used to do when they were cadets in the Horde.

It’s funny that such a small thing, when everything else has changed, remains the same.

For several long moments, Catra stays paralyzed in indecision. Then, so quiet Catra almost doesn’t catch it, Adora lets out a soft moan and shifts against her shoulder, her brows pinching together in a frown.

A nightmare, then. Immediately, Catra’s indecision melts into certainty. Carefully, as gently as she can manage so not to startle, she draws away, levering one hand to cup Adora’s cheek before her head lolls forward, and gives her the slightest shift.

“Adora,” she whispers. “Adora, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

Adora doesn’t wake up, but only lets out a small, weak noise, and fidgets, her face now screwed up in what’s edging dangerously close to anguish. Panic mounts in Catra’s chest, and before she knows what she’s doing, she leans forward and gives Adora a gentle shake.

“C’mon, Adora,” she says, studiously avoiding the soft green glow of the runestone beneath her shirt. She hates looking at it, hates knowing that it’s even there. “It’s just a nightmare. Wake up.”

“Mmmm,” Adora shifts again, as if pulling away from Catra, but then, to Catra’s utter relief, she blinks once, then twice, then opens one bleary eye. She wakes up slowly, without a start, but that’s Adora through and through. Even tangled up in nightmares, she swallows it silently, without a single peep even in her sleep.

“Mmm…Catra?” She sounds utterly confused, fear edging at her tone like she isn’t sure where she is. “What’re you doing here?”

“We fell asleep,” Catra says, relief beating a staccato rhythm in her chest. “And you were having a nightmare. So I woke you up.”

“Woke…” Adora frowns, then presses a palm to her forehead hard, as if trying to shake whatever she saw from her head. “Are we….are we in Bright Moon?”

“Yeah.” For a moment, Catra wonders if this is another memory thing, but then Adora shakes her head again, as if to clear it, and she decides it’s probably post nightmare grogginess. “Do you…uh, want to talk about it?”

She’s not sure what she expected—but predictably, even half asleep, Adora immediately cringes away.

“I’m fine,” she mutters, dropping her gaze, and in a moment what little connection they’d had is severed. Catra’s heart pangs, but she acquiesces with a nod.

“Okay.” All of a sudden, she notices that her hand, though no longer on Adora’s cheek, is hovering just by, and quickly snatches it away. Then she looks away, heart pounding like a drum, and tucks her hand carefully into her lap, far away from any accidental brushes. “Um, then we can, uh…”

She’s not sure. There’s nothing to do but go to bed in the middle of the night, except they’ve both just woken up, and Catra can’t imagine that Adora wants to return to her nightmares. Unless—

“Catra?” Adora’s voice, soft and oddly uncertain, cuts through her rambling thoughts, jerking her to attention.

“Huh?” is the intelligent sound that comes out of her mouth, before her brain catches up. “Sorry, I mean—what’s up?”

“Is there—” She hesitates, as if unsure to ask. “Is there food here?”

“Food?” Again, it takes Catra’s brain a moment to catch up. “In Bright Moon? Are you kidding?”

Then she realizes that that didn’t answer her question. “I mean, of course there is. What do you want?”

“Anything,” Adora says immediately, and with such fervent honesty that for a moment Catra feels like they’re just cadets again, or more briefly, members of the Rebellion, just hanging out. Together, and that’s all that matters.

Except it’s dark but for the runestone glowing softly at Adora’s chest, and Adora is still cringing away like she can’t stand to be touched, and it may feel briefly the same, but there’s a new gulf between them Catra can’t cross. So she nods, and then pushes herself to her feet before extending a hand she doesn’t expect Adora to take.

“Here,” she says, and predictably, Adora doesn’t take it. Instead, she pushes to her feet, blinking away sleepiness and stifling a yawn, then glances to the door.

“Where’s the kitchens?” she asks, and Catra blinks in surprise, before remembering that she probably doesn’t remember.

“Uh…probably best that I just show you,” she says, and watches the immediate defense flare up in Adora’s gaze.

“I can go alone,” she says, and there’s a hard edge to her voice like she’s expecting Catra to argue. Which is probably a good bet, because that’s exactly what Catra is about to do.

“Okay.” She crosses her arms, and leans back on her heels. “Where is it?”

Adora opens her mouth to retort, then shuts it again when she realizes she doesn’t have one. Catra takes the silence as a moment to dwell on her victory, then jerks her chin toward the door.

“C’mon,” she says. “I’ll show you where the kitchens are. You don’t even have to talk to me.”

Maybe the last part was unnecessary, but it’s too late to take back, and indeed, Adora opens her mouth once again, then shuts it tightly and nods.

“Fine,” she says, and though Catra knows she shouldn’t take it personally, she does a little bit, anyway.

Some greater part of her figures that this is jut all part of Adora’s stupid, self-sacrificing streak. Still, at the same time old habits can’t help but scream rejection, and rejection always makes her want to turn tail and run. But that won’t solve anything, and it especially won’t help Adora.

Even if she is being obstinate. But then again, Catra wonders as they make their way into the hall, would she even be Adora without the utter, thickheaded obstinacy?

Probably not. 

The kitchens aren’t far, but it does take Catra a little longer than she’ll ever admit to find them, namely because it’s dark and she still, even after a couple of months, isn’t all that attuned to Bright Moon’s expansive halls. She doesn’t mention the wrong turn they take, however, and once they arrive, she does know exactly where the food is kept.

“Here.” She starts with simple things—bread, cheese, fruit—and sets it on the table, ignoring the way Adora fidgets as if she’d rather be the one doing it. 

“I can get my own food,” she does say after a moment, and Catra turns, one eyebrow raised, then steps back and gestures to the pantry.

“Go ahead.”

Adora does step forward, brushing past Catra close enough her heart gives a funny little jump, and stands before the pantry. She doesn’t go inside, or step further forward. She only studies it, feet poised uncertainly like she’s not sure what to take.

“If you’re looking for the cake, the cooks hide it at the back of the second fridge because they know if they don’t we’ll steal it all.” Catra comes up beside her, crinkling her nose at the things Adora is considering—dried fruit and rations left over from the war.

“Cake?” Adora looks at her, confused. “You mean like…?”

She pauses, searching for a—a memory, or something. As if she has the word in her head, but it’s drifting alone. Catra hesitates, unsure if she should step in, or indeed, do anything Adora doesn’t ask her to do, and then decides that she doesn’t care. 

“Here.” Quickly, before Adora can object, she darts to the nearby fridge, rummages for whatever cake they might have stored—chocolate, this time around—pulls it out, and plunks it on the table. “Want some?”

Adora stares. “Um—”

“You’re allowed to, you know.” That’s actually a lie, but Catra isn’t about to start caring now. She didn’t care any of the other times she snuck food from the kitchens—this time, she would argue it’s even more important.

Still, Adora doesn’t move. She only stares for a long moment, then, with great hesitation, steps forward and seats herself in front of it.

Catra does the same, seating herself on the opposite side of the table and templing her hands under her chin. It occurs to her that maybe she shouldn’t be watching so intently, but there’s a nervous worry in her that makes it hard to tear herself away. It’s not the deep, panicky worry she’s been feeling for ages—rather, it’s a gentler kind, like a parent worried about a child’s first day at school.

Maybe it’s dumb, but she doesn’t want Adora to hate the food she’s about to eat. Especially when she knows the food on Horde Prime’s ship couldn’t be called food in any sense of the word.

Adora reaches out for the cake, then hesitates and moves instead for the fork Catra had carelessly tossed beside the food earlier. Then, with great care, she leans forward and digs in.

The reaction is immediate; her eyes widen and Catra can practically see the look of utter shock flicker across her face.

“This is cake?” she says around a bulging mouthful, and Catra has to keep herself from laughing.

“You know, you used to eat it,” she tells her, only to wince as a not so pleasant memory comes up. “Or at least, Glimmer said you guys did.”

She watches Adora closely for any sign of recognition, but Adora only nods like she clearly knows this, when Catra can immediately tell that she doesn’t. 

“I know that,” she says, slightly defensive, which only sounds weak considering she’s too busy shoving more into her mouth. “I’m not—I didn’t forget everything.”

And just like that, the smile, which had been tentative in the first place, slides off Catra’s face.

“I know,” she says, but it doesn’t sound as reassuring as she wants. In fact, none of her words, prior or otherwise, feel like the proper ones, and all of a sudden Catra can’t help but feel like she’s tiptoeing over a mine field once more, though she knows it’s not Adora’s doing. Rather, it’s Catra who can’t get her damn mine detector to work.

She feels like she should know what to say, or what to do, or how to snap her fingers and make Adora okay, or—something. Instead, she’s giving her cake because she hasn’t had a real meal in who knows how long, and pretending that it’ll be enough.

And it probably won’t. Probably, after this, Adora will just go back to ignoring Catra, to shutting herself off from everybody, to acting like she’s a terrible person who needs to be locked away.

And Catra is sure that there are some people, somewhere out there, whispering about Adora’s whereabouts, and the things she’s done, and whether she deserves to be forgiven. Catra doesn’t care. She’ll fight them all if she has to, and keep Adora far out of reach, or at least, until Adora figures out that it wasn’t her fault.

Which, knowing Adora, will be a long time coming.

Adora, with nothing to say, has gone back to quietly eating her cake, though every once in a while Catra catches a glance she’s pretty sure she’s not supposed to have seen. For the first few, she extends the courtesy of ignorance, but as the cake disappears, they keep on coming, and it’s by the fifth that she can’t take it anymore.

“Something on my face?” she asks the next time Adora glances at her, and watches Adora immediately glance away, cheeks coloring.

“No,” she mumbles quickly, and instead of saying something else, shoves another mouthful of cake into her mouth.

“Okay, well, you do,” Catra says, and points to the crumbs coating her upper lip. “Are you gonna get that, or…?”

“Huh?” Adora reaches up to swipe the crumbs away, but misses them completely, and Catra has to keep herself from laughing.

“Here.” Before she has time to think through what she’s doing, she leans forward to swipe a thumb across Adora’s lip. It’s something she might have done ages ago without even a second thought, and maybe that’s why it came so easily to her in this moment, but a moment later, halfway through the movement, her brain catches up to her actions, and she realizes what she’s doing.

“Uh—” Quickly, she yanks her hand back, cheeks burning, and shoves it under her thigh, as if that can wipe away the memory of the touch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Adora looks away, her whole face a curious red color, and bites her lip.

“It’s fine,” she mumbles into her plate, but Catra can tell it’s not fine, and now she’s kicking herself.

“I didn’t mean—I know you don’t want to be touched,” she says quickly, as if the words can excuse the action. “I didn’t think about it, I just—”

Adora just gives a jerky shrug, and doesn’t say anything, and Catra takes that as her cue to fall silent, so she does, wishing miserably that she could take back the movement. For a long moment, they only sit there, the rest of the food untouched, and Catra wondering if she dare break the silence to apologize again.

“I don’t get why you’re doing this.” It’s Adora who breaks the silence herself, and Catra jerks her head up, heart ricocheting off her ribcage.

“Doing what?” she asks, another apology springing immediately to her tongue. 

Adora gestures vaguely between them, to the table of food. “This. Helping me. Treating me like…I don’t know. Like I’m sick, or something.”

“Huh?” Catra stares, struggling to formulate a response. After a moment, she manages, “I told you why, Adora. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“I told you it should.” Adora’s voice is hard, her gaze boring into the table, her brow pinched. When she speaks again, something breaks slightly in her voice, just enough to snag Catra’s heart against her stomach. “I…you know I’m not worth it.”

“You’re worth it to me.” The words rise easily to her tongue, so easily they’re out before she even has to think about them. “You never told me I wasn’t worth it. You just…cared.”

And is it really a stretch, Catra wonders, to think that she could do the same?

But Adora shakes her head, biting her lip. “No, but I…” she starts, the drops her head miserably, her eyes on the table.

“It’s different for me,” she whispers. “It’s not the same.”

“Why not?” Catra stares, genuinely confused. Much as she turns it over in her head, the only difference she can make out is that where Catra chose her actions, Adora never did—which would only lean the situation more in her favor.

Adora gives a weak shrug, her eyes still on the table. It takes her a moment to answer. 

“Because I’m….” She pauses, struggling for the right words. “I’m supposed to be…I don’t know.” She trails off helplessly, and shakes her head. Catra only watches, slight disbelief twitching at her lip.

“What? That you’re supposed to be better than me?” It shouldn’t hurt, but it does—and she’s trying not to make it sound accusatory, but she knows it comes out that way. And of course, Adora’s head jerks up, and her eyes widen as she swings her chin back and forth.

“No!” she says, then hesitates, as if she’s not sure what to add. “But it’s—it’s just different. I’m not—I’m supposed to be…” she pauses for a moment, as if struggling to get the word out. “…She-Ra. I’m supposed to protect people.”

Her eyes drop down to her plate again, and she blinks hard, in a way that tells Catra she’s trying not to cry.

“I should have been stronger than her,” she whispers, and now tears really are dripping down her nose. “You don’t get it, Catra. I’m not allowed to be…to be…”

“A person?” Catra hazards dryly. “A human being? Somebody who makes mistakes?”

“It’s not a mistake!” Adora snaps, launching to her feet hard enough to send her fork clattering to the floor. It takes Catra slightly by surprise, but then she’s on her feet as well, though she doesn’t move closer. “Murder isn’t a mistake, Catra! You can’t kill people and say it was an accident!”

“You can if you were under mind control!” Catra steps closer, around the table, and some part of her knows that this is probably a bad idea, but familiar, hardheaded frustration is rising up in her, the one that just can’t understand why Adora _won’t listen_. “Why is it you can forgive me, but not yourself? Why do you get to be special?”

She expects Adora to refute the accusation of ‘special’, like she always does, but this time she doesn’t. Instead, she bristles and steps closer, hands curling into fists.

“Because—it’s different!” she says, and before Catra can scoff, or snap off a retort, she continues. “Because I have to be different, or I’ll—I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” They’re too close now, closer than Catra knows she should be, but she doesn’t want to back down. “You’ll be normal like the rest of us?”

“No, I’ll be worse!” Adora shouts, and then shuts her mouth, as if the very words surprise her. They surprise Catra too, so much that she draws back, all her anger dropping away into confusion.

“Worse than what?” she asks, but Adora just shakes her head, lips tightly shut as if she can’t let another word by.

“Forget it,” she says, and looks away, her face burning red, though this time Catra knows it’s probably with anger. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You should.” Catra takes another step forward, and almost reaches out, but then thinks better of it. “It might help.”

“I don’t need to _talk_ ,” Adora spits, her tone bordering on nasty in a way Catra’s never really heard before. “I’m not trying to help me. Catra. I’m not the one who deserves it.”

“You do too,” Catra says, but Adora is shaking her head, stepping back and glancing away, first to the food, half-eaten, then to the door.

“I think I’m done,” she says, and draws her arms across her chest, hugging tightly. Her runestone glows just above them, flickering slightly. “I’m going back to my room.”

“Do you want me to—?” Catra starts, but Adora just shakes her head. 

“I’m fine,” she says, and moves past her, but as she does, Catra catches one more glimpse of her runestone, still flickering like the weak light of a candle.

It wasn’t, she’s pretty sure, flickering before.

Sudden fear blooms in Catra’s stomach.

“Wait, Adora—” she says, and turns to grab her by the arm, only to remember that that’s a bad move to make. And immediately, Adora shakes her off, drawing in on herself.

“I told you I’m fine!” she snaps, and ducks Catra’s arm, diving through the door and into the darkened hallway.

“Wait!” Catra calls, panic now fully bubbling, and lunges after her. “Wait, Adora, I think I saw—”

She doesn’t hear a response. What she does hear is a sharp cry, strangled with pain, and then the sound of what might be knees smashing painfully into the floor. 

“Adora!” Catra’s heart leaps into her throat, and before she knows it she’s tumbling through the door after her, terrified of what she might find.

And nearly trips over her prone form.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, im back! just letting you know, i am super appreciative of all the support this story is getting. like fr, yall make me so excited keep writing and sharing. Thank you so much!

She remembers falling, but she doesn’t remember hitting the ground. She does remember Catra’s voice, urgent with panic, and the stupid, childish impulse that tells her not to listen, and after that—

Well. After that, she wakes up. 

She’s not in Bright Moon. She’s not anywhere, actually, that she recognizes, even with half her memories missing. There are fields, and the occasional rocky outcropping, stretching as far as the eye can see, but the sky is pale and lifeless. 

She’s never been here. But it feels intimately familiar. 

“I was wondering when I’d see you here.”

The voice, dreadfully familiar, sends a shock of panic through Adora’s chest. Without thinking, she turns around, and takes a step back.

“You,” she whispers, heart thumping.

Horde Prime smiles. “Yes. Me.”

Her blood is roaring in her ears, her heart slamming so hard she can practically hear it. Distantly, she can feel the ragged breaths heaving her chest, but in a more immediate way, all she knows is that she has to be calm, _be calm_. 

“I killed you,” she tells him with more authority than she can muster. “You’re dead. You’re just—”

“A figment of your imagination?” He shrugs, towering over her. He’s too close, only a few feet away, and she wants to turn tail and run. Fear and shame are coursing through her, the fear of what he could do to her and the shame of knowing that for so long, she let him. He used her, and she went along willingly, mind control or no, and try as she might, she knows she’ll never be able to leave that behind. 

“I might be.” He steps closer, grinning cruelly, and reaches out to cup her face, but in a flash, she knocks his hand away. He isn’t moved by this. Instead, he only draws his hand back, and tucks both behind his back, then studies her.

“Or I might be more than that,” he continues, his smile small and taunting. “Dear child, did you think I wouldn’t give myself an escape route?”

“No,” Adora says blindly, and then repeats it with more strength. “No, there’s no way, I saw you, I felt—”

Felt the way the sword ran through his chest. Saw the way his blood pooled beneath him. Watched the life drain from his eyes, only maybe it never drained at all, maybe it only moved—

“You can’t be real,” she whispers, and his smile only widens. 

“I might not be,” he acknowledges with a tilt of his head. “I might, in fact, only be a conjuring of your thoughts. But that doesn’t change what I’m about to say.” 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Adora says immediately, but he only chuckles, genial. 

“You don’t really have a choice,” he says, and she doesn’t have to look around to know that he’s right. The plains they’re on, minus the occasional rocky outcropping, are grassy and endless, a non-landscape in nearly every sense of the word. 

No escape. Always.

“Fine,” she spits, and knuckles her fingers hard into the fabric of her shorts, so hard her nails dig right through, praying the sensation will wake her up, will draw her from this dream— “What’s so important you have to tell me?”

Horde Prime’s smile only widens, sickeningly familiar. It’s the smile he wore when he would send her out on a mission, or received a successful status report. A mockery of a father’s smile, coated in honeyed cruelty, dripping with unmentioned threat.

She hates it. She hates it, and hates the way it was once a comfort. The sensation of that still lingers, much as she tries to push it away.

“Killing me was an interesting choice.” With both hands still clasped behind his back, he starts to circle her, eyes sharp and regarding. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think you had it in you. You were very…obedient.”

“Yeah, well,” Adora says, even though his words burn like coals against her flesh, because he was right, he _was right_ — “Maybe you didn’t control me as well as you thought.”

“Didn’t I?” Horde Prime abruptly stops, forcing her to twist around, and when she does, he stoops slightly, his gaze horribly piercing. “I have to wonder, She-Ra—”

“I’m _not_ —” 

“Where are you now, without me?” There’s no smile on his face. Instead his lips twist down with barely constrained anger, the kind that she might once have blustered in the face of, but now is only terrified of. 

“Better,” she retorts immediately, though that’s not true, is it? She’s lost, just as lost as she’s always been, and it’s not even anybody’s fault but her own. She who got captured, and she who let herself be used, and it was her friends who had to save her, only in doing so, they’ve stripped her of anything worthwhile. Now she’s only broken, not a hero and barely a girl.

Not that the last part matters. The first part was the only thing she was good at, anyway.

“Hmmm.” Horde Prime studies her, unconvinced. Then, abruptly, he sniffs and straightens. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes,” she lies, and can tell immediately that he doesn’t buy it one bit. “I mean—it doesn’t matter. I’m not going back to the light. I’ll never—I won’t hurt anybody again. Ever.”

“Not even as She-Ra?” One eyebrow raises, and she only stares at him, baffled.

“Yes!” she retorts, confusion mingling with irritation. “Especially not as She-Ra! She-Ra is—she’s dead. Thanks to you.”

“Me?” Horde Prime’s eyebrows raise even higher. “Surely you aren’t blaming me for your actions.”

“What?” Adora draws back, half in surprise and half in pure indignation. “Are you—you controlled me! You made—you made me—”

“Did you not complete every mission willingly?” Horde Prime asks. “As I recall, you were happy to be brought to the light.”

“Because I didn’t know!” she stutters, but the words lack conviction, because she did know, didn’t she? Whether the so-called light guided her or not, it was still She-Ra who carried out those crimes—and by extension, Adora. So who was at fault, really? The one who gave the order, or the one who carried it out?

She’s not sure, and that scares her more than anything.

“I see.” Horde Prime is smiling, that cruel, confident smile, and she wants to wipe it off his face. “So you’d rather push the blame off than take responsibility for your actions. Truly a hero.”

“I’m not a hero anymore,” Adora snaps, and turns away from him, shaky breaths catching in her throat. She has to figure out what she’s doing here, or better yet, how to get out. She shouldn’t be having a conversation with Horde Prime at all, if he truly is Horde Prime, and not just a figment of her imagination.

It has to be the latter. She wants to believe that it’s the latter. She doesn’t think she can take anything else.

“What are you doing here?” she asks without looking around. “Why are you bothering me? Haven’t you done enough?”

“Have you?” Horde Prime sidles up beside her, and gazes across the landscape. “You could have been great, you know. I mean, truly—” he breaks off with a chuckle— “though death was hardly my desired fate, I don’t think I could have chosen a better successor.”

Adora’s head snaps up to face him, and for a moment she only stares, heart pounding in her throat. It’s a strange mixture of emotions—horror and guilt, yes, but also that longed-for pride, the kind that she, under his control, would destroy worlds to wrench out of him.

He’s not her father, or her older brother, or the one who controls her anymore. But old habits die hard, and she knows, in a logical fashion, that Horde Prime put a lot of work into making her feel this way.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel it.

“I don’t want to follow in your footsteps,” she tells him, working hard to keep her voice steady. This is bizarre, this conversation, the tones mundane and the subject matter entirely other. She feels like she should be screaming at him, that she should be hurting him the way he hurt her, but she can’t even summon the will. She’s only tired.

Horde Prime doesn’t look at her. He continues to study the landscape, a small frown upon his face.

“So you would relinquish your destiny?” he says after a moment, and this time turns sharply to face her, so sharply that she takes a step back. “After all you did as She-Ra and all you could have done, you would throw it away for a little guilt?”

Stunned, Adora has no reply. She opens her mouth, shuts it again, then bristles.

“Of course I would!” she exclaims, and throws out a hand toward the landscape, though why she doesn’t know. “I killed people! You made me kill people! I—that’s not who She-Ra is! That shouldn’t be what she does, and I—I turned her into—”

“Please.” Horde Prime sniffs, and turns back to the front, his hands clasped serenely behind his back. “You are young, child, and that’s what you don’t recognize your words for what they are—the nattering of youth. You think that by giving up everything you could be, you would somehow make the world a better place.”

“I—” Adora stutters, baffled. “Yeah, of course! I don’t deserve—”

“It’s not a matter of deserving.” Horde Prime’s voice cuts sharply through her protest. “Child, when I took you in—”

_“Brainwashed—”_

“I learned much about your destiny, and who you are.” He’s still watching the landscape as he speaks, his tone so calm it might be flat. “You have no idea what you are capable of. The good you could bring to the universe. Truly, I was _privileged_ to have you under my lead, if only temporarily.”

“Some privilege,” Adora spits, and steps away from him, though he’s made no further move to reach out to her. “You made me kill millions of people! You made me—”

“More than what you were,” Horde Prime finishes smoothly, forcing Adora into a silent glare. “Which is why I’m here, I think.”

“You think?” Adora balks, surprising momentarily edging out her anger. “What do you mean, you think? What the hell are you trying to get me to do?”

“Me?” Horde Prime raises his eyebrows. Then he frowns, and turns back to scan the landscape, brooding. “No, child, I’m starting to think that’s not it at all.”

“What’s not it?” Adora is watching him carefully, hands curled loosely into fists, though she doesn’t know what she’ll do with them. Fight him? Hurt him? Hasn’t she done enough already? Can’t she just rest?

But rest, she reminds herself, is a reward, and surely not one that she deserves.

Horde Prime doesn’t turn when he answers. “Haven’t you figure it out, child?” He glances at her, and when she stares back, baffled, a wicked smile curves across his face. “I died, and yet here I am. Surely there’s a reason for it.”

“Oh, yeah?” Adora glowers at him, for lack of anything better to do. “What reason is that?”

This time, he really does look at her fully, regarding her with studious interest.

“Perhaps,” he murmurs after a moment, “I’m here to help you reach your potential.”

“What?” Adora draws back, sudden panic flaring in her stomach. Suddenly, she feels caught again, like a bug in a spider’s web, even if this only is her own mind, and she supposedly in control. “No, that’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” Horde Prime steps forward, and so she steps back, heart pounding as his cruel gaze roams over her face. His voice, when he speaks, is somehow both soft and sharply commanding. “Child, think it through. Whether I’m here or not, if I’m just a conjuring of your mind—you brought me here for a reason. I stayed, because you need help. Somebody who can help you become the hero you were always meant to be.”

“I told you, I’m not a hero,” Adora retorts, hands clenched so he won’t see her trembling fingers. “I can’t be. She-Ra—”

“Killed millions under my command.” He sounds bored. “Yes, we know all this. And I won’t regret what I’ve done in the name of order. What I’m asking is that you consider what you could be doing.”

He spreads a hand wide, gesturing. “After all, what are you going to accomplish as Adora? What are you even worth without your place in the world, child? Does the universe need another simple girl?”

He bends forward, grinning widely. “Or does it need a hero?”

“I don’t—” Adora stutters, struggling to refute him, but the problem is his words hurt like only the truth can. Because what’s the point of her, without She-Ra? What’s the point of Adora, the girl with the bloodied hands and the stained soul, who was too weak to fight back so she only carried out orders? If Horde Prime is a figment of her imagination—what is she trying to tell herself?

Well, that answer is easy. She’s telling herself to stop moping around.

“You think I should be She-Ra again,” she says, sounding out each word slowly, as if trying to make sense of them. “You really think that will help people? After everything I’ve done?”

Horde Prime shrugs, and straightens again. “Why not? After all, is a sad, self-pitying girl really what the universe needs? Or are you going to try to fix your mess?”

“Your mess,” Adora growls, and straightens, nails digging into her palms. “You can’t throw this on me! I was only—”

“Following orders.” Horde Prime grins. “The excuse of immoral soldiers everywhere. Is that really what you think?”

“I—uh—” Adora struggles for an answer, and can’t find because he’s right. If she had been stronger, she would have resisted. If she had been better, she wouldn’t have gotten captured. 

She can’t tell if he’s real or if he’s her own mind throwing things back at her, but they’re definitely sticking.

“Fine,” she snaps, age-old guilt churning through her, “but I don’t care. I don’t have to listen to you. I just need to wake up.”

“And continue doing nothing?” Horde Prime smiles pleasantly, like he knows he’s got her. “And continue to mope, and feel sorry for yourself? Please, little sister. You do yourself a disservice.”

“Shut up!” Adora cries, and turns on her heel, just so she doesn’t have to listen to him. Her hands curl at her sides, her shoulders hunch, and all she can think is that she can’t fall apart in front of him, not like this.

He said she wasn’t strong enough. She has to be stronger.

She has to do something.

“C’mon,” she says, and squeezes her eyes shut. “Please wake up, please, please—”

“You should consider my words.” Horde Prime’s voice sounds lazily behind her. “Your friends will only keep you around for so long, once they realize you have nothing to give. Face it, child. You have nothing to offer unless you—”

“Wake up,” Adora repeats, again and again and again. “Wake up, wake up, wake UP!”

And then, as unexpected as a dunk into a cold pool, she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is horde prime real? or a figment of her imagination? or something in between? who knows (i know tbh)


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I'M BACK
> 
> WITH A CHAPTER
> 
> crazy I know
> 
> Hope you like this one, and as always, you guys are the best

Adora wakes up with a start, to find two faces peering at her—one curious, the other filled with anguished worry.

“Adora—!” Catra lunges for her, only to catch herself halfway, and pull back as if she’s not supposed to touch her—a rule Adora recalls vaguely setting up, though for a brief moment, she wishes she never had.

Catra hesitates for a moment, indecision clear on her face, then squats decisively beside her, one hand on the edge of the bed, the other hovering as if she’s not sure what to do with it.

And it’s then that Adora realizes she’s lying on her back, staring up at both Catra and Entrapta.

“You passed out,” Catra tells her, before she can even ask. “I saw something weird happen with your chip, that’s why I was yelling—why didn’t you stop?”

There’s more hurt in her tone than anger, and somehow that’s worse. Adora frowns, which hurts—had she fallen on her face? Her whole body is aching—then, with a groan, levers herself to her elbows.

Something is tugging at the back of her mind. Something awful, like a half-remembered dream, the kind that she knows will come back if she concentrates.

She doesn’t want it to come back. Then, it might be too late for that.

“I didn’t hear you,” she lies, in a voice a little too snarly to carry it. Catra frowns, and Adora knows she’s caught, but doesn’t wait for her to pursue it. “How long was I out?”

_Stay normal_ , a voice whispers at the back of her head. Her own voice, steady but scared. _Stay normal, get away, and then figure out what you just saw_.

She doesn’t know if it was real. She dreads the thought that it might be. If Horde Prime is really back—

Then she’ll never have escaped. She’ll just have proven she was never saved, even after all the effort they put in to do so, and soon they’ll be wondering why they ever bothered.

It’s not the possibility of being put to death, or locked away, that bothers her. It’s the very idea that maybe she was never strong enough to break free at all, and if she lets the truth be known, then they’ll see her for what she truly is.

Weak.

She can’t be weak.

“About half an hour,” Entrapta chimes in, but Adora is barely listening. “By the time Catra got you to me, you were already waking up, actually. So it’s probably, _maybe_ not life-threatening.”

“Probably maybe,” Catra mutters, her voice bitter with sarcasm but her face paler than Adora recalls her ever being. “Shouldn’t you be checking her over?”

“Oh, right!” Entrapta bobs her head, then turns to rummage in a large tool belt, strewn across an empty chair to her right. Adora stares at the chair, trying to remember if she saw a chair in the hallway, then realizes that she’s not actually in the hallway. She’s in her own room, lying on her familiar stiff bed.

Catra must have brought her there. The thought, inexplicably, makes Adora blush. 

Then Entrapta turns back, some mysterious device in her hand, and Adora processes the last exchange.

“Wait!” She sits straight up with more strength than she’d thought she’d had, and pushes herself away, out of Entrapta’s reach. “I don’t want to be examined.”

“Uh, you sort of have to.” Entrapta is staring at her quizzically, like she’s a math equation she can’t quite figure out. “But I thought we were okay with examining. Last time, you wanted me to examine the rune—”

“Not anymore,” Adora says quickly, heart pounding. She needs to think through this clearly, she knows, but her thoughts are in a whirl and that dream—was it a dream?—is tugging at her, and she can’t bring herself to be laid bare. If Entrapta somehow figures out what Adora saw—if she knows that Horde Prime talked to her—

It probably was just a figment of her imagination. A shameful, horrible figment, of something she wants to leave behind and already knows she’ll never be able to, and the last thing she can bear right now is having them know. If they know she’s so weak that she still dreams of him—

She can’t. They should hate her anyway, but stupidly enough, she doesn’t want to give them yet another reason to.

“I don’t want to be examined,” she says again, and even though she’s aching from her fall, she forces herself to move quickly, lunging for the open space beside Catra near the foot of the bed, which at the moment is her only escape route.

But Catra is fast too, and the moment Adora tries to escape, she’s already darting to block her off.

“Oh, no way!” A hand presses against her chest, just above the runestone, and half of Adora wants to push it away, but another half only aches for the familiarity of the touch. 

She doesn’t give in to either urge. Instead she freezes, caught under a touch that can’t even be counted as a grip, and waits for Catra to realize and remove her hand.

But Catra doesn’t. Instead, decision firms her expression, and she reaches up to press gently against Adora’s shoulder, guiding her back into bed.

“No,” she says, in a tone that brooks no room for argument. “Clearly, there’s something wrong, and I know you’d rather us leave you alone to rot, but that’s not what I’m gonna do. Or Entrapta,” she adds with a glance towards the other woman, who hastily nods. “You can’t just avoid everything forever. You do that, you’ll just end up worse.”

“But—” Adora argues weakly, only she has nothing to back it up with. Catra is right, and worse, the words ring familiar in a way Adora can’t place at all, the feeling of which only strands her between memories she doesn’t have. Somehow, they’ve had this conversation before—and she knows they have, recently—but they’ve had it more than once, back and forth between them.

Had she said those words to Catra? Had she said those words to her? Can it be true that they apply to one, and not the other? Because somehow, she can’t make them true in her head.

Avoiding just seems like the perfect solution, at the moment. And also at all possible moments.

But Catra hasn’t removed her hand, and she’s still trying to, with impossible gentleness, guide Adora back into bed, so despite herself, Adora goes. Presses back into a pillow she doesn’t really want to be there—it seems too kind a courtesy to have—and allows herself to untense somewhat, even though her instincts scream against it.

Then Entrapta swivels to face her, device in hand, and she tenses up all over again.

“Can you just—make it quick?” she says, tone half hard and half pleading. “I don’t—”

Want you to see anything suspicious—

“Want to lie here all day,” she says, pushing normalcy into her voice. She’s not sure if it works at all, but Entrapta nods, as if this is totally reasonable, and Catra’s lip twitches.

“Have anything important planned?” she asks. “Because there’s still more cake in the kitchens, if you’re wondering.”

It’s not at all an insult, or even an embarrassing thing to say, but Adora blushes anyway, for reasons she doesn’t understand. Maybe because she let her guard down, just for a second, around Catra, and now she knows instinctively that she’s given her a way in. A chink in the armor that Catra will exploit until they’re—until they’re—

_Something_ again.

And they can’t do that. Sure, part of Adora wants it badly enough to turn weak at the knees, though she’s not entirely sure what that wanting entails, but she also knows she doesn’t deserve that. Try as Catra might, a murderer, a monster, doesn’t deserve friendship.

Or anything else.

So Adora looks away, forcibly ignoring the blush staining her cheeks (she can only pray that Catra doesn’t see it), and mutters, “I’m not hungry.”

It’s the kind of refusal to engage that shuts down banter immediately. Catra recognizes it, and draws back, slight hurt flashing in her expression which Adora ignores. She’s got to be strong about this kind of thing, she reminds herself. Friendship isn’t exactly the road she should go down right now. Not when she’s failed so many of them.

Beside her, Entrapta is busy setting up her device, untangling wires attached to suckers, the kind Adora really hopes aren’t about to be attached to her body.

“Are those…for me?” she asks, and her heart sinks when Entrapta nods.

“Need to check you somehow!” she chirps, and hands a sucker to Adora. “Attach it anywhere. Well, within reason. I’ve been working on this guy all day, if you were wondering. A way to get faster, more accurate readings.”

“More accurate.” Adora’s heart sinks as she absentmindedly shoves the sucker onto her arm. “That’s….great.”

“It sure is!” Entrapta exclaims, and presses a button, which forces the device to admit a whir. “And it won’t hurt a bit, probably!”

“Probably?” Catra says, and Adora has to resist the urge to tell her that she doesn’t care. What’s a little pain in the face of everything she’s gone through? What’s a little pain in the face of everything she deserves?

Probably, it would be better if it hurt a lot. But Adora doesn’t voice such a thought aloud.

“It’s fine, Catra,” she mutters instead, and looks away, eyes on the bedsheets. It’s easier that way to tamp down the fear as Entrapta stabs buttons on her device, muttering quietly to herself as she does so. “I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” Catra snaps, but she doesn’t protest further, only falls into a dark silence, her eyes moving between Adora and the device, and back again. “How long is it going to take?”

“Not long.” Entrapta’s eyes don’t move from the device. “In fact, it should be—”

“Ow!” It’s not pain, actually, but the shock that gets her. Like dunking her arm in ice cold water, a strange feeling spikes in the spot the sucker is located, and without thinking, Adora tenses.

“Ooh, don’t tense, please,” Entrapta says, without looking up. “Bad for the readings.”

“Bad for the—it’s hurting her!” Catra leans forward, fingers moving as if to pull the sucker off herself, only for Adora to hold up a hand to stop her.

“I’m fine,” she says through gritted teeth. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just…weird.”

Catra hesitates, fingers hovering over the sucker. “Weird…?” she says after a moment. Adora just forces a shrug.

“It’s fine,” she says again, and doesn’t know if that’s true, but doesn’t want any more questions. When Catra only dithers, look indecisive, Adora forces a glare.

“It’s _fine_.” What’s not fine is whatever might be on that device Entrapta is currently poring over. What’s not fine is whoever might be sitting inside her head, his words digging claws into his skull, convincing in a way only he can be.

She doesn’t want to believe him. She doesn’t even want to think about the things he’s said. But something about it nags at her, and she can’t leave it alone.

She can never turn into She-Ra again—she _should_ never turn into She-Ra again. She’s not a hero, and she’s stained that white outfit she wears with the blood of a thousand worlds.

But if she never becomes She-Ra again…who is she?

She feels like this has happened before. In fact, she remembers a brief time in which she couldn’t be She-Ra at all, but that went away for reasons unclear. Maybe Horde Prime had a say in it. She doesn’t know.

“Done!” Entrapta chirps, so unexpectedly that Adora flinches.

“Already?” she asks, and then realizes how odd that sounds. “I mean, can I take this off?”

She gestures to the sucker upon her arm, to which Entrapta nods.

“Sure! Don’t need it any more.” And with that, her chin sinks down, her eyes drifting back to the device in her hands. As if Adora and Catra aren’t there, she starts to mumble.

“Interesting…mostly the same as before, but…”

Adora watches her, listening carefully even as fingers reach for the sucker attached to her arm. It comes off with a funny squelching sound, and with no idea what to do with it, she lets it dangle between her fingers.

“Is there anything new?” she asks anxiously, heart beating fast, and catches out of the corner of her eye Catra’s head turning towards her. She can almost sense the curiosity, the question there, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Hmmm…” Entrapta is frowning, peering closely at the device. “I think…I might need a….um…”

Then, as Adora’s watching, she glances toward Catra, a look so quick it would be easy to miss if Adora weren’t watching closely.

“I think I need to examine it more closely,” she finishes, and the words have the stilted lilt of a lie. She’s still watching Catra, in fact, some shared look passing between them, but Adora can’t decipher it.

But they’re keeping something from her. That much she can tell.

“Hey—” she starts, drawing both their gazes. “What are you—”

And doesn’t have time to finish, because just then, the doors burst open and two figures tumble through.

“Adora!” 

Adora looks up, and catches a flash of pink hair and a glittery cape before Glimmer is upon her, Bow close behind. For a horrible moment she’s afraid she’s about to be hugged—she’s still not sure about physical contact—but then they pull up short beside her and hover, worry mingling with relief on their faces.

“We just heard,” Glimmer says, breathless. “About, uh, passing out. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Adora says—her new catchphrase—as she gropes desperately for ground in a relationship she only half remembers. Glimmer and Bow are familiar—she remembers their names, their faces, and a handful of memories tinged with cotton candy sweetness—but it all falls through when she reaches for it, like patchy clouds.

It’s frustrating. And humiliating. She can’t bear the thought of admitting that she can’t quite remember them, especially when she has the dim feeling she owes them. 

Then again, she’s had that feeling a lot recently.

“Great idea!” Entrapta says, though nobody has suggested an idea. “You three get caught up! Without me and Catra to bother you!”

“But I want to—” Catra objects, only to yelp as prehensile hair wraps around her waist and drags her toward the door.

“Wait!” Adora calls after them, suspicion flashing white-hot, but Entrapta only gives a backwards wave and pushes them both through the door.

Leaving Adora with two of her best friends. Alone, with nothing but a sinking feeling and two friends she should, by all rights, remember.

It’s then that Adora recalls that she’s a terrible actor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: how can I fit sweet but awkward glimmer bow and adora friendship moments into the next chapter  
> Me: well, if she passes out-


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back!! thank you all for your patience, this chapter is more 'necessary plot stuff' than anything else, but hopefully we'll be moving on pretty soon (I say as if I have more than a vague idea of what's happening). But as usual, thank you all so much for the comments and kudos!~ <3

The last thing Catra wants to do is leave Adora behind. However, Entrapta is strong, and her hair even stronger, and though Catra struggles, she’s no match for the wall of purple that surrounds her.

“You could let me walk on my own!” she hisses out irritably as Entrapta sends them both tumbling into the hallway. Immediately, Catra claws her way out of her hair, careful not to actually damage any of the locks themselves, and turns on Entrapta. “What was that for?”

“Important stuff!” Entrapta shoves the device into Catra’s hands, the small screen of which flashes a series of numbers. “Look what I found!”

Catra stares at the screen, and the scrolling numbers. “You do know I can’t read any of this, right?”

“But it’s—oh, okay!” Entrapta lets out a groan and snatches the device back. “It should be obvious. You see these numbers—” Her finger swipes over a few columns— “that are abnormally high? Well, comparatively.”

“Uh, sure?” 

“Those numbers indicate the areas of unidentifiable material I found when I studied her runestone earlier!” Entrapta’s eyes gleam, as if this is some wondrous discovery rather than something dreadful. “They’ve clearly increased, seemingly temporarily, but I’ll have to do more tests to be sure. Still, the important thing is—”

“Something’s going on with her runestone.” Catra can feel her heart sliding slowly to her stomach. “Something really is happening to her.”

“Well, maybe.” Entrapta turns the device back to herself and starts to fiddle with it, frowning. “It could correlate to her mental state. Was she overexcited when she passed out?”

“Uh—” Catra thinks back to Adora angrily storming out, and her heart sinks further. “A little bit.”

Entrapta sighs. “Well, what I’m guessing is that whatever’s inside her runestone is linked to her mental state. She gets excited, or upset, she triggers a reaction. At least, that’s my hypothesis. I could examine it further if—”

“We used the technology from Horde Prime’s ship?” Catra guesses, and Entrapta nods.

“I’ve been taking what I can, but—” She shrugs. “Some of it just can’t be removed without disabling the whole thing. If I could just get her into the ship—”

“And if we could get the ship into space.” Catra nods, thinking of the whole, hare-brained plan they’re supposed to be following through. Follow Adora’s runestone to the source, and figure out what’s wrong with her. If only they can get Adora on the ship. “Okay. I guess….”

“You’ll talk to her?” Entrapta’s eyes brighten, less at the talking, Catra guesses, and more at the idea that they might soon be going into space. If she can convince Adora to come.

“Yeah,” Catra says with a sigh, and glances to the door. Behind it, she knows Adora is probably trying to make nervous smalltalk with people she only half-remembers, and she wishes she could be there as a buffer. “Can I go back in now?”

“Huh?” Entrapta’s eyes dart toward the door. “Oh—sure! Actually, no.”

“What? Why not?” Catra turns to her, half ready to snap back some retort—who is she to say what she can do?—when Entrapta just shrugs.

“I think King Micah wanted to talk to you today. Today as in, the morning.” She glances to the high window, through which the first beams of light are starting to trickle through. “Something about the space trip.”

On the last words she turns to Catra, eyes shining with excitement, and Catra can tell that she’s eager for Catra to get a move on. That she would rather Catra put into motion the wheels of the plan they’re about to undertake, rather than stay by Adora’s side.

And she’s probably right. It would benefit Adora more in the long run. It doesn’t matter that all Catra wants to do is plant herself by her side, and stay there.

“Fine.” She huffs out the word in a sigh, and turns. “I’ll go.” 

“Great!” Entrapta crows behind her, and jogs a little to catch up as she starts off down the hallway. “Make sure to mention how important this trip is to the future of Etheria’s technology.”

“You mean to the future of Adora’s well-being,” Catra growls. Entrapta only nods sagely.

“Two birds, one stone!” One long lock of hair pats Catra on the shoulder. “You got this!”

Catra wants to snap back, tell her that she must certainly doesn’t have this, that she feels trapped in a whirlpool of indecision and wrong moves, but she also knows that Entrapta’s trying to help. So, grudgingly, she nods.

“Thanks, Entrapta,” she says, and Entrapta grins from ear to ear.

“Don’t mention it!”

—————

It’s awkward. Like, really, really awkward.

“So…how you feeling?” Bow asks, fingers tapping together like he’s not sure what to do with them. “We heard you, uh, passed out.”

“And we wanted to make sure you were alright,” Glimmer says with a hard look at Bow, as if he isn’t allowed to state the obvious. “Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?”

“Uh…no,” Adora lies. Actually, her entire body feels like one enormous bruise—probably from face-planting on the floor—but she’s not about to admit weakness. Not in front of people she doesn’t remember knowing.

That’s a lie, actually. She sort of remembers them, in the way one remembers a nostalgic childhood memory—distant, dreamish, and entirely out of reach. She remembers here and there, but her entire life from before Horde Prime also feels like it was dissected into so many pieces it might as well not exist at all. Sometimes, she thinks the gap between who she was and who she is now is so wide it’s not worth crossing.

Not to mention, the Adora who was Bow and Glimmer’s friend was a hero. A good person. Somebody worth being friends with.

Now she’s somebody…well. Somebody different.

Bow and Glimmer are staring at her as if they don’t believe her for a single second. Neither of them immediately say anything, but both look as if they have plenty to say. As Adora watches, fighting the urge to tear her gaze away and pretend none of this is happening, Bow and Glimmer exchange a glance.

Then, softly, Bow says, “You don’t remember us very well, do you, Adora?”

“Huh?” Adora’s head shoots up, her fingers clenching into the fabric of her bedsheets. Immediately, she scrabbles for a lie. “What?—no, I—”

“—am a terrible actor,” Glimmer declares and then, in one swift movement, steps forward, turns, and plops upon the edge of the bed, with enough distance between herself and Adora so as to keep the illusion of safety. After a moment of hesitation—and possibly gauging her reaction—Bow follows, settling on her other side, his hands lightly gripping the edge.

“You don’t have to pretend, you know,” he says with a half-smile, one Adora instantly knows to be genuine. “I mean, you really are a bad actor, no offense, but—”

“We’re still your friends, even if you don’t remember us,” Glimmer says with an affirming nod. “And we’re here for you, no matter what. Even if you don’t want us to be.”

“Sucks to be you,” Bow says, his smile widening slightly. Adora gapes at him, unsure what to say. Actually, she’s positively sure that she has no idea what to say. None of this makes sense, and none of this is fair, not to them, because they’re trying to make friends with—with—

Without thinking, her chin drops slightly, her eyes falling to the floor. She stares at it, eyes burning with tears, and wills herself not to let them splash over.

“I don’t think that’s a smart idea,” she whispers, her voice pitifully small, hating herself for her inability to be stronger. “I don’t think you should be friends with me.”

She doesn’t add her reasons why, because she knows somehow that they’ll reject them, just like Catra did. Somehow, too, she can’t bring herself to yell at them either, despite the overwhelming, desperate urge to push them away by any means possible. They’re being too nice, is the problem, and Adora’s never had a defense against that. With Catra, it’s easier to yell, because her caring burns so hot that Adora knows she’ll be branded if she gets too close—and then it’ll be too late. With these too, it’s patient and kind, and terrible in a different way.

It’s insidious, is what it is. And yet she can’t bring herself to take the necessary action to nip it in the bud.

Too nice. They’re too nice to her. 

When she risks a glance up, Bow and Glimmer are exchanging a look above her head. It’s not what she might expect—being said, it holds no ammunition she might use with which to push them away. It’s not a ‘she’s gone crazy’ look, or a ‘what the hell is she talking about?’ look. Rather, it’s the sort that says ‘how do we help her?’

And that, more than anything, makes Adora want to scream—because don’t they know she’s not worth helping? Not when she can’t even turn into the one thing that was good about her in the first place?

After a long moment of silence, Bow clears his throat.

“Too bad you can’t get rid of us that easy.” His voice is teasing, but kind. “You’re…kind of stuck with us.”

“Yeah, I mean, you think a little thing like Horde Prime is gonna get in the way of the Best Friend Squad?” Glimmer says, only to cringe slightly at Adora’s wince. “Okay, no mentioning that guy. Who doesn’t matter anyway. What matters is you’re here, Adora. With us.”

“And you’re safe.” Bow’s voice chimes in, far too optimistic, in Adora’s opinion, for the situation. “Nothing can reach you here, Adora. You can rest.”

She doesn’t deserve to rest, she thinks, but she doesn’t say that out loud. Instead, she nods slightly, just enough to show she’s heard, and then, because she can’t hold it back anymore, quickly brings up her hand to muffle the sniffle she can’t keep from escaping.

“Thank you.” Her voice is still small, smaller than it’s ever been. She doesn’t know how to repay their kindness, which somehow falls so naturally between them, like it’s the only path available. Like she deserves it, so she gets to have it. When everybody knows it’s not that simple.

Even if she doesn’t remember much, she remembers some things. She remembers Shadow Weaver, and Catra, and the Horde, and a lesson beat into her head over and over again: you are worth what you can give to the Horde. You are worth your actions, and no more.

If Horde Prime truly was in her mind, he only said the very things she was thinking.

“Uh—” She tries not to choke up as she responds, but it’s hard. “T-thanks, guys.”

Beside her, Glimmer laughs, tentative but gentle. “You don’t have to thank us, Adora. We’re just glad you’re here.”

And still, despite their words, despite the comfort they’re offering, Adora can’t make herself believe it. None of it makes sense. How can they, good people, be happy to see a murderer? How can they want her around? She wants to stand up and demand an explanation, to make them splice and explain every word they’re saying until she finally gets it, but she knows that she won’t.

Because they’re wrong. They’re too kind. They’re handing out sympathy and pity like she deserves it, when she knows deep inside that she doesn’t.

Once, She-Ra might have deserved that kind of thing. She-Ra the hero, She-Ra who helped people. Now she’s just Adora, who was used when she should have stopped it, and she doesn’t deserve any of that.

But she can’t say any of that out loud. So instead she just nods, forcing back tears, and, when Bow tentatively reaches out to place a hand on her shoulder, she doesn’t push away.

Instead she lets him, and revels in their friendship, if only for a moment.

————

King Micah is waiting in an empty briefing room when Catra arrives.

“Hi, King Micah.” She hangs back slightly as she enters, suspicion and uncertainty getting the best of her. She’s not sure why he would call her here, except maybe to punish her for her earlier jailbreak—though he hadn’t seemed that upset about it on the battlefield.

“Catra.” King Micah turns to face her, and his eyes, she notes, are incredibly tired. “How’s Adora?”

“Good,” Catra lies, and steps slightly further into the room. There are chairs scattered about, as if the briefing had been only recently dismissed, and she resists the urge to take one, just to throw how nonchalant she is in his face. She’s not actually nonchalant, but it’s always been her first instinct to pretend. 

King Micah nods, then does something unexpected and takes a seat himself, slumping over with his elbows on his knees like exhaustion is finally getting the best of him. He stays like that for a moment, then heaves a sigh and straightens.

“You’re welcome to sit down,” he says, gesturing towards a nearby chair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause alarm. I just want to talk.”

“You didn’t alarm me,” Catra replies, but she does sit down, choosing a chair not too close and not too far. “What did you want to talk about?”

King Micah looks up at her with bleary, tired eyes. Probably, he hasn’t gotten any more sleep than she has. 

“About you,” he says, “and Adora. But mainly I wanted to apologize.”

“Huh?” This takes Catra aback. She stares at him, utterly baffled. “For…what?”

“For being hard on you.” King Micah lets out a sigh, and his eyes drop to the floor. “Well, I was being hard on myself. So I was being hard on you, and the others. See, it’s been a while since I’ve been a king, and a while since I’ve had the whole planet on my back. And especially with my recent—” he flutters his fingers— “possession, I was anxious to prove that I had what was best for Etheria at heart.”

He shifts his feet awkwardly, then looks up at Catra, who only stares at him, unable to believe what she’s hearing. Since when do kings apologize? And to her? 

“But my point is, I placed She-Ra over Adora. And Etheria over She-Ra. I was too afraid of losing the planet to think about whether I could save Adora…and then you proved that we could.”

He looks at her then, sad and almost guilty, as if he wants her forgiveness. And maybe that’s what he’s asking for, Catra realizes. Forgiveness, or understanding, or something. 

She almost doesn’t want to give it to him. It’s not in her nature to forgive, nor to forget, and the thought of what might have happened had she not escaped haunts her. But at the same time, she’s only here because of the people who chose to forgive her. Because of Bow, and Glimmer, and most of all, Adora.

They all gave her a second chance. Shouldn’t she do the same?

“It’s okay,” she says after a long, heavy moment. At her response, King Micah’s head jerks up, and his eyes widen. “I mean, I guess I get it. It’s a lot to think about. And, uh…” She shifts, uncomfortable. “…it’s not like I haven’t done some things I regret too.”

“Oh. Uh, yes.” King Micah nods, though she’s not sure if he’s agreeing or only nodding along. “Well, we’re glad to have you here no matter what, Catra. You and Adora. And I’ll do anything I can to help her get better.”

“Oh—good.” Catra nods, and then it occurs to her that this is probably as good a time as any to bring up their fledgling plan. “Which, speaking of…”

“Yes.” King Micah is already nodding in agreement.

Catra raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t even hear what I was going to say.”

“No, but I know enough.” King Micah rises, chair scraping across the floor. “Entrapta came to me earlier to talk about the ship, and your plan to track down whatever Horde Prime used to corrupt Adora’s runestone. And I wholeheartedly agree.”

“You do?” Catra rises to her feet as well, tail twitching in slight confusion.

King Micah shrugs. “I said what I said. I’m here for what you need, and with the threat of the Horde apparently gone, well…” He gives another shrug. “We definitely don’t need to keep you here.”

“Oh.” It takes Catra a moment to process his words. Then, abrupt as a rainstorm, relief surges through her. “That’s—that’s great. So we can leave—?”

“Whenever you see fit.” King Micah nods. “And I assume my daughter and Bow are going with you?”

“Uh—” Catra hesitates. In truth, she hadn’t stopped to consider, but she had always assumed that they would. They’re not the type to get left behind. “I think?”

“Well.” King Micah nods again. “Alright. I’ll freely admit I’d rather Glimmer stay, but I don’t think I can really stop her, can I?”

He smiles slightly at Catra, eyes twinkling, who despite herself, smiles back. 

“No, King Micah. I don’t think you can.”

“Fine. Fine.” But his eyes are still twinkling, a ghost of a smile still on his face. “Then, one last thing. Catra?”

Catra is already eager to leave, anticipation and relief building in her, but at his words, she pauses. “Yes?”

“Take care of them.” His tone is entirely serious, and she knows he means it.

She nods. “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick sidenote: if anybody follows me on tumblr, I've moved blogs from hetzi-clutch to hetzi-art. I probably should have, uh, announced I was moving, but we don't think ahead in this house.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR WAITING
> 
> so my mental health has been a liiiiil wild in the past few days which has basically ground my writing to a halt but TODAY i managed to somehow finish chapters for both crossroads and this fic??? so update day has finally arrived and thank you all for waiting we're finally getting things moving a tad
> 
> also to mental-health-cope I finally read that uber driver au and no i am not okay. now im really fucking tempted to write a modern/human au just because....what is stopping me except my common sense. and the two long fics i am writing. technically nothing
> 
> anyway if you follow me and suddenly see me posting chapters for a modern au u saw nothing
> 
> also, this chapter contains a small discussion of suicidal ideation, so if that is not your thing, I'll do a quick summary at the bottom of the chapter

When Catra leaves her meeting with King Micah, late morning sunlight is filtering through the high, gleaming windows. It’s disorienting, and it takes her a moment to recall the sense behind it—it had been dark when her and Adora had left to get food, and dark when Adora had passed out. Only a short time has passed since then, but it feels like a year.

And Catra, despite the long nap she’d taken with Adora, is tired.

Worse, she doesn’t know what to do. She feels stuck at a crossroads, torn between doing what Adora wants and what Adora needs. If Entrapta is right, the way to her health is through Horde Prime’s ship, painful as it might be. However, the biggest obstacle in the way is Adora herself, and that’s what hurts the most. Catra knows—or at least, she thinks she knows—what the right path is. That doesn’t mean it’s what she wants to choose.

But Catra has been trying to do the right, rather than the easy thing, lately, and that’s why she’s on her way to Adora’s room, for what will no doubt be another painful and fruitless conversation.

But she has to try.

She knocks lightly when she reaches the room, then rocks back on her heels and waits, fingers lightly tapping her thigh. It takes her a moment to catch Adora’s voice.

“You can come in, Catra.”

Catra almost smiles as she pushes open the door and steps inside to a room warmly lit by sunlight streaming through the windows. “How’d you know it was me?”

Adora isn’t looking at her—she doesn’t look like she’s moved from her bed at all, in the time between Catra’s departure and return. She’s fiddling with the bedsheets again, which is a habit Catra doesn’t recall her having from before.

She shrugs. “I could just tell.”

“Huh.” Catra doesn’t know what to make of this. She also can’t quite read Adora’s body language. Her shoulders are tensed, but she’s not drawing in on herself, not turning away from Catra. Her body language isn’t screaming at her to leave. She’s not exactly welcoming either, but it’s a start.

Catra dithers for a moment by the door, then steps forward.

Adora doesn’t look up, and she takes this as a sign to approach, crossing the room until she comes to a halt at the foot of her bed. Then, she hesitates.

“Can I sit down?”

At last, Adora looks up. She eyes her wearily for a moment, then nods. 

Gratefully, Catra sinks onto the mattress, glancing once at the shine of the runestone through Adora’s shirt before looking away. She hates looking at it—it feels like a ticking clock, counting down all the ways she’s already failed to save Adora, and all the ways in the future she might as well. Adora’s refusal to listen to Entrapta only makes things worse; though Catra can see the reasoning behind it, part of her just wants to grab Adora by the shoulders and drag her into the ship, just to make her well.

But you can’t just make people do things. Catra’s learned that well enough by now. Sometimes, her own wanting just isn’t enough to get people to comply, and force doesn’t work either.

Sometimes, she has to talk it out.

“So,” she says after a moment of stretched silence. “How are you feeling?”

Without looking up, Adora shrugs. “Okay. Kind of tired. You?”

“Uh—” The question takes Catra momentarily back, before she recognizes it for what it is—a deflection. “Fine. But seeing as you were the one to faint—”

Adora cuts her off with a sigh. “Let me guess. You wanted to check on me?”

“Yeah—well, no. I mean, that too. But—” Again, Catra hesitates, the words she’s about to say stuck on her tongue. It might not be bad news, she reminds herself, but it’s scary enough that she wants to keep it to herself. She wants to protect Adora in any way she can, even though logically she knows that keeping her own medical information away from her is detrimental. 

Besides, it might actually convince Adora to do the right thing.

“But I wanted to tell you what Entrapta found,” she says firmly, and this time, Adora looks up, eyes widening slightly before she shuffles her face into a (bad) mask of indifference.

“I didn’t think you would tell me,” she says, and Catra can’t help but wince.

“Yeah, well, don’t have so much faith in me.” The words are out before she can stop them, and she wants to wince again as Adora ducks her head guiltily.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, and Catra wants to tell her that it’s okay, she doesn’t have to apologize, but she bites her tongue. Adora always apologizes for everything, even if it’s not her fault. Telling her off isn’t going to make her stop.

Maybe time will help. Time and just…being there.

“I didn’t mean that,” Catra says, and before Adora can answer, cautiously sets herself down on the bed, as if staking a claim—or a choice. A small push against her personal space in the most respectful way possible, because she knows she has to keep a distance, but that’s not gonna help at all if Adora just throws up walls in the empty space in between.

So she settles upon the edge of the bed, careful not to touch her, and folds her hands in her lap, trying to keep the nerves and dread at bay.

She hates what she has to say. She hates that saying the words makes them real, or worse—permanent.

Adora is watching her, blue eyes wide and scared, though she’s trying to hide it. She always tries to hide it. She doesn’t say anything, but just waits as Catra, nerves driving her on, plays at making herself comfortable.

No, she’s pretty much putting this off. Because she really doesn’t want to say this. 

“So, um—” She breaks the silence with a cough, fingers twisting in on each other— “Entrapta found, uh. Stuff. In your runestone. Unidentifiable stuff.”

When she looks up, Adora is staring at her, nonplussed. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Catra admits, feeling as she does utterly useless. “But it might be related to your fainting. At least, Entrapta said a lot of technobabble, but the gist of it was apparently that it got worse after you fainted.”

“Worse?” Adora’s head shoots up, and it takes Catra only a moment to realize her unfortunate wording. “You mean she knew about this before?”

“Uh—” Quickly, Catra scrambles to backtrack, but it’s already too late. “I mean, she suspected—”

“Did you know about this?” There’s an accusatory note in her voice, so strong that all Catra wants to do is hide under the bed they’re sitting on. Instead, she goes for the second, instinctive tool in her arsenal.

Defense.

“Well, yeah!” She throws her hands across her chest, sticking her chin out in a way that even she knows is childish. “Yes, she told me! And I didn’t tell you because you weren’t ready to listen, Adora! But that’s why now—”

But Adora only retracts in on herself, bringing her knees to her chest and her hands around them. She shakes her head, her expression bitter.

“I can’t believe you—” The words stick in her throat, as if she can’t quite drag them to the surface. “You—you knew something was wrong!”

“I didn’t know anything!” Catra retorts, and knows that she should be forcing herself to stay calm, but damn it, why does everything have to be so hard, constantly? Why can’t they just talk, like two normal people? “All Entrapta told me was that something, maybe was happening, but we couldn’t be sure because you would barely let us check you over! Because you want that damn thing off, apparently, but you won’t let us help you!”

She stops, chest heaving, and knows that everything came out wrong, and worse, she can’t take it back. That probably, she’s done the exact thing she didn’t want to do and driven Adora even further away, into the little self-destructive bubble she’s determined to stay in, and now she’ll never come out, ever.

She doesn’t have anything left to say, so she just sits there and waits for the retribution.

It doesn’t come. Adora sits there, blinking, and a moment later Catra realizes she’s blinking back tears. Not successfully, however, because they’re rolling down her cheeks, and then she ducks her head away so they hit the bed sheets instead, staining through the fabric.

It takes her several long moments to speak. When she does, her voice is so small Catra almost misses it.

“I know—” her voice nearly breaks— “I know you want to help me. I just—”

She shakes her head miserably. “Catra, you can’t know what’s going on inside my head.”

Catra blinks, because the words are as near an admission as she’s going to get. “I don’t want to.” Without thinking, she moves closer, close enough to almost-touch. “I mean, I do want to. But I don’t—not in a way that makes you feel unsafe, you know? I’m not trying to pull you apart.”

There are tears coming to her own eyes now, but she swallows them back because it’s not the time. “I just want to help, damn it—I just don’t want to be worrying about you every second of the day.”

Adora lets out a small snort—or maybe a scoff. “You don’t have to.”

“Well I do, dummy. Because—” And then she stops, words she’s never said before piling up on her tongue. She freezes midsentence, choking them down instead, and they stick so hard she feels she’s about to gag.

No way. The very thought—she can’t—

“Because I care about you,” she finishes instead, forcing as much meaning into the words to make up for it. “I don’t want you to die, and I know you don’t want to either.”

When Adora doesn’t move, doesn’t even look up, Catra hesitates, sudden dread running through her. “Adora—”

Adora still isn’t looking at her, and the dread solidifies into pure fear. “Adora, you _don’t_ want to die, do you?”

She doesn’t answer, and all Catra can hear is her blood pounding in her ears. Her heart squeezes, as if it’s about to burst, and she has half a mind to put a hand to her chest to make it’s okay. The other half of her wants to grab Adora and pull her into her chest, keeping her close enough to protect her from any possible harm, even if that harm comes from herself.

She can’t even think about this possibility. She doesn’t want to consider it, but she can’t ignore it either, because—

After several impossibly long moments, Adora lets out a small sniffle and looks away, to the wall.

“What am I going to do if I can’t be She-Ra?” she asks, and some of Catra’s fear fades away. Some of it. It’s a deflection, not an answer, but it implies a future beyond whatever shortened one she feared Adora might be considering.

It’s not enough. She still wants to question Adora, to break down every answer and grab her by the shoulders until she gives Catra the answer she wants to hear, but she can’t.

But why can’t she? Why does it have to be so hard? Tears rise to her eyes again, and she blinks them back.

“You don’t have to be She-Ra,” she says instead, but Adora just gives a little shake of her head as if rejecting the idea. “Adora. Really. You know I don’t care about She-Ra. Nobody cares about She-Ra.”

Adora laughs then, bitter and short. “Everybody cared about She-Ra until—you know.”

“Yeah, and they don’t have to,” Catra responds angrily, clawed fingers digging into the bed sheets. “Adora, if anybody starts putting guilt on you about She-Ra, I’ll tear their throats out and laugh about it.”

“Morbid much?” Adora replies, but it comes out all broken, no bite left to count. Then she drops her head and sighs. It takes her a long moment to speak. When she does, her voice comes muffled through her knees and hands.

“I’ll do it.”

“Huh?” Catra’s head jerks up so fast she nearly snaps her neck. 

“I’ll do it.” Adora raises her head then, her eyes puffy and red, and gives Catra a look that isn’t really a look at all. She’s staring right at her, but she’s looking far beyond, as if considering something else entirely. “If—the ship, and this stupid trip or whatever, will figure out what’s going on with me. I’ll do it.”

“Oh.” Relief rushes through Catra, fast enough to knock her to her knees if she weren’t sitting down. “That’s—that’s great. I’ll tell the others.”

But she doesn’t stand. She can’t make herself. Not in the aftermath of this conversation, and the deflection Adora gave that’s sent her heart beating like a drum. She can’t leave right now, even though one part of her knows probably nothing will happen.

Probably.

“What are you going to do now?” she asks Adora, who’s still staring at the bedsheets. “Did you—did you want to get food, or—”

“I think I want to sleep.” Adora’s voice is hard, and the message is entirely clear. _I want to be alone_.

Yeah, Catra’s not going for that. “Great. Me too. Good thing you have a big bed.”

Adora’s head snaps up, and it’s her turn to look surprised. Interestingly, a blush spreads across her cheeks. “Wha—why—”

“I don’t—” Best just to be straight about it, Catra tells herself. “I don’t want to leave you alone, okay? Not—I just don’t. Humor me.”

Adora frowns, something hardening in her gaze. “What if I want to be left alone?”

“I could probably take you right now, no offense.” She delivers the words in such a nonchalant way so as to cover the fast rhythm of her heart. 

Adora studies her for a long moment, still frowning, looking as if she wants to argue. Catra doesn’t back down. She only raises an eyebrow, ear twitching slightly. 

At last, Adora lets out a huff, and abruptly flops onto her side, pulling the covers up to her chest. 

“Fine,” she snaps, her legs maybe-on-purpose shoving Catra in the side. “Whatever.”

It’s almost funny to see Adora be the immature one, for once. It doesn’t remove the lump in Catra’s throat, or slow the pound of her heart, but it lessens it slightly. Enough that, after a moment, she pulls her feet up onto the bed and curls around Adora’s legs, letting her tail twine around one foot.

She expects Adora to ignore her utterly. But after several moments—close to a minute, almost—she reaches down one hand almost tentatively, and buries her hand in the hair just behind Catra’s ears.

Adora was always the only one who Catra allowed to touch her hair, or her ears. When they were children, the other cadets would try, urged on by curiosity and childlike fascination, but they were always met with a hiss, and occasionally a clawed hand. Even Adora, the first time she tried, was met the same way. She’d learned her lesson, and asked the next time.

Catra had refused. And refused again, and again, until one day, after a terrible punishment issued by Shadow Weaver, Adora had found her crying in her bed. She’d climbed up beside there, and stayed that way for a long time as Catra had cried herself out.

Then, tentatively, she’d asked: “Catra…can I touch you? Is that okay?”

For a moment, Catra had wanted to say no. But instead, she’d nodded, and stayed stock still as, with exaggerated caution, Adora had reached up to tentatively pat her shoulder.

“You could…” Catra had hesitated, feeling her heart beat suddenly out of her chest. “You could touch my hair, or my ears. If you wanted. I…like it when people scratch my ears. Sometimes.”

She wasn’t she where she’d known that from, but she had a dim memory from a distant childhood. And when Adora had carefully reached up to scratch her ears, Catra had purred, and for the first time of many times, had thought _maybe this is okay_.

She’d never thought that it might be a comfort thing for Adora too. But now, lying in bed as Adora’s hand moves cautiously over her ears and trying not to purr, she thinks that maybe she’s missed a lot of things she should have known. Should have noticed, maybe, before it was too late.

But then, better late than never. So after a moment, she gives in and allows a purr to rumble deep within her chest, until she knows that Adora can feel it.

Maybe it’s not enough. But it’s something, a shared moment and a shared memory between them, and Catra doesn’t have a lot of pieces left to give, but hell, she’ll give it all if she has to.

It’s worth every bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small summary: adora and catra talk, catra explains that entrapta found some stuff in her runestone, and adora finally agrees to going on horde prime's ship. after that, adora says she wants to sleep and catra insists on staying with her, adora lets her and ends up scratching her ears as they both fall asleep.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey I'm back! as usual, thank you all for the lovely responses, they legit make my day! We're finally, finally inching closer to space. *finally.*

**_Two weeks later:_ **

The ship is almost ready, according to Entrapta’s diagnosis. In the time that Adora’s been doing nothing—useless, a voice at the back of her head murmurs—Entrapta has been a ball of technical fury, retrofitting what feels like every single part of the ship for space travel.

It had been ready before, she’d explained to Adora once as she’d passed her in the hallway. Adora was pretty sure she hadn’t meant to address her. More like she’d been talking to herself, and Adora had caught the brunt of it.

“It’s fine for space travel!” she’d babbled, hands full of bits of metal Adora couldn’t possibly identify, “but not for people! Er, not that clones aren’t people, but you get what I mean. We need an actual kitchen, and I had to sync the technology in the medbay to non-clone species, and—”

And then she’d passed Adora and turned down a hallway, still talking though Adora hadn’t bothered to follow. Adora had watched as her hair had disappeared around the corner, and wondered if it would have been polite to continue listening.

She’s not very good at polite these days. She’s never been very good at polite—always too anxious about getting it right, so anxious that she forgets bits and pieces and messes it up anyway—but these days, she just feels like she shouldn’t bother at all. More like she should make herself quiet and small, and never talk to anybody until they talk to her, even if she gets so lonely it hurts.

She doesn’t deserve that, she reminds herself. Doesn’t deserve the friendship. Not even from Catra, who tries incredibly hard despite Adora’s reluctance.

“C’mon,” she says, and takes Adora to the kitchens because she hasn’t eaten. Or takes Adora to check on Bow and Glimmer, who are poring over Horde ship instruction manuals. Or once, takes Adora to a stranger with a goatee and kind eyes, who introduces himself as a therapist, whatever that is, and says that Adora can talk freely about her feelings.

She doesn’t talk about her feelings. She sits there for six minutes, skin itchy and hot and too tight across her bones, and then stands when she can’t take it anymore, and walks out.

She doesn’t talk to Catra for a day after that, and in that time of separation wonders if that will finally bring Catra to quit. To give up on her, because Adora, she’s pretty sure, has given up on Catra so many times. She doesn’t remember the exact details, but she remembers tears and betrayal and anger, and she remembers Catra begging her to stay, more than once.

She never stayed, and she doesn’t know why. She remembers anger too, on her own part, and she thinks it’s justified but doesn’t pry enough into the details to verify.

She’s afraid, sometimes, of what she’ll find.

Catra doesn’t give up on her though. She gives Adora space—too much space, though Adora will never say that—then, on the cusp of twilight, creeps into Adora’s room and comes to her bed, though she doesn’t sit down.

“I’m sort of a hypocrite,” she admits after three minutes of uneasy silence. “I didn’t talk either. Everybody said it would be good for me, but I couldn’t—I dunno. I thought it might help you.”

Adora doesn’t answer. She thinks about telling Catra that she doesn’t need help, that what she needs is to be left alone so she can rot away in peace, so she can be shunned by the Rebellion like she deserves, but she doesn’t say that. Instead, she turns to face the other side of the bed.

It’s an invitation, and Catra knows it. After a moment, she settles carefully on the edge of the bed.

“It might help, when you’re ready,” she says. Adora doesn’t answer.

Catra sighs.

“Kicking me out, then?” Her tone is teasing. It’s welcoming, for a moment, though Adora knows she doesn’t deserve it.

“No,” she says after a moment, her voice muffled into the thin pillow. It’s surrender, and Catra accepts it gracefully. With exceeding care, she curls up around Adora’s legs.

They don’t really talk. They don’t talk about things, even though Catra talks sometimes to fill the silence and direct her when she needs directing. Adora doesn’t do much either, first because she’s too weak, and then because she doesn’t feel like she should.

She’s a monster, is the thing. Dangerous, uncontrolled. She shouldn’t even be seen by the rest of the Rebellion, let alone be interacting with them. 

Some people try. Netossa and Spinnerella come by, and toss looks between Adora and Catra that Adora doesn’t understand, and they bring cake because ‘they heard Adora loves it’, and Adora doesn’t say much to them, but she’s polite because she has to be and later, when she’s hungry in the middle of the night, she sneaks out of bed and eats the cake.

(This wakes up Catra, who comes over and helps her out.)

King Micah comes by, and apologizes profusely for reasons Adora doesn’t really get, and when she tries to argue, Catra leans over and whispers ‘just go with it’. So Adora does, nodding along as he apologizes for loads of things that aren’t his fault (like ‘endangering’ her), and when he leaves, she shoots Catra a quizzical look.

Catra just shrugs.

In that way, two weeks pass, and Adora can’t tell if they want by fast or slow as molasses. At times, she felt like they would never pass at all, and at times she felt like two many things were happening, and she couldn’t make them slow down.

At the moment, however, she’s just impatient. Not impatient for anything in particular. Just…itchy.

Maybe bored is a better term.

From the window of her bedroom she can see Horde Prime’s ship, a stark spire jutting into the horizon, and it’s there that Catra finds her, only a little while after Entrapta informs them of the state of repairs.

“Doing okay?” Catra comes in without knocking, which is a recent allowance. She’s the only one who doesn’t need to knock. Adora doesn’t turn around.

“Yeah,” she lies, and as always, she feels the telltale pulse of the runestone at her chest, an ever-present reminder of her dilemma.

She hasn’t seen Horde Prime since that day that she passed out, but his words haunt her dreams and her thoughts anyway, throwing her into a problem she can’t escape. Because Horde Prime is right, in a way. Without She-Ra, Adora is useless. But with She-Ra, Adora is a monster.

What can she do? How can she fix the mess she’s made? Should she even try?

Her friends don’t want her to, but they don’t understand either. They don’t get the weight that presses down on her, so heavy it’s impossible to breathe, and they don’t understand the dreams that haunt her, the ones that wake her up with a muffled scream she doesn’t let out.

She has a decision to make. She knows that much, and with every day that passes, she knows that she has to hurry up and make the choice. 

Option one: listen to Horde Prime, or whoever sits inside her head, be it her own subconscious, and try to bring She-Ra back. Become the hero she was supposed to be—the only thing she was ever meant to be—and try to fix her bloodied legacy.

Option two: Get the runestone off and…what? That’s the problem. She can’t figure out what the second option means, and so she hesitates.

If it means giving in, giving up on all the reparations she needs to make….she knows she can’t do that. Not with the destruction left behind in her wake.

She’s still thinking as Catra crosses the room and comes up beside her, careful not to touch. Adora doesn’t mind touching as much as she did—actually sort of misses it—but she likes the show of space more. There’s something comforting about the way Catra allows for her personal space, even when Adora doesn’t always need it.

“It kind of takes up the horizon,” Catra observes, and Adora knows she’s talking about the ship. She’s right, too. The ship is a looming, misshapen spear, thrust into the sky, and it dominates the landscape.

Adora looks at it a lot. Sometimes, she can’t believe she’s agreeing to board it again.

“Yeah,” she replies, and doesn’t give anything more. Sometimes, she feels like Catra’s getting impatient, with her silence and her one word replies, but she doesn’t know how to tell her that if she gives anything more, it’ll be too dangerous. She can’t be friends, and she can’t be familiar, because therein lies peril.

She doesn’t deserve it. She reminds herself of this over and over again, especially when she’s weak and gives in to things like Catra sleeping in her bed. She doesn’t deserve it.

Catra shifts beside her, and glances over, tail flicking like she wants to say something. She gives Adora these glances a lot, looks that Adora doesn’t know what to do with, especially because she looks away just as fast.

Sometimes she’s blushing, and Adora doesn’t know what to do with that either.

“Entrapta says she’ll be ready tomorrow.” Catra breaks the silence after several long moments, with another wayward glance. “She says the ship is pretty much outfitted for people, and tomorrow she can give us the grand tour. Basically, we can leave whenever you’re ready.”

Whenever she’s ready? Adora bites her lip. She hates the idea that this is all dependent on her, the risk of space travel and the journey to find something when they don’t even know what they’re looking for. 

She wants her runestone off so badly—but the price of it almost makes her hesitate.

She hasn’t had an episode since the fainting spell, but the runestone makes itself present in other ways. Sometimes she feels weak, like she’s one second from doubling over, and other times she simply feels its presence like a tick stuck to her head, draining her life force minute by minute.

Entrapta hadn’t said this in so many words, but Adora knows that whatever relationship she has between the runestone and herself is parasitic. She can feel it, and it scares her.

“That’s great.” Try, she reminds herself, _try_. She musters a smile in Catra’s direction. “When tomorrow?”

Catra blinks, perhaps surprised at Adora’s sudden switch. “Uh, whenever you want. Are you feeling okay?”

Adora’s smile disappears as quickly as it had come. “Yeah,” she lies, and wonders if maybe she should have stuck to good ol’ frowns. “Why?”

“Uh, nothing, it’s just…” Catra swallows, then steps closer, and says gently, “I can tell when you’re nervous. And trying to fake it. And we can, uh, wait a little if you want.”

“Oh.” But that’s not the problem, Adora screams silently. The problem is that she doesn’t know what to do.

She wants the runestone off. But what will she be when it’s gone? Who will want her around, and why should she even assume she’d be wanted?

The runestone gone will mean the end of She-Ra, she’s sure of it. But is that what the universe needs? Is that what she can stand to give?

Shouldn’t she try to be the hero she was meant to be, even if that means returning to the form that terrifies her so?

_Be strong, Adora_ , a nameless voice whispers. It sounds like Shadow Weaver, and it sounds like Light Hope, and it sounds like her friends, all trusting her, believing in her. Be _strong_.

She-Ra is strong. Is Adora strong enough to reclaim her?

“No.” She lifts her chin and looks Catra directly in the eye. “I want to go tomorrow. As soon as we’re ready. The sooner the better.”

—————

That night, she goes to bed alone—despite Catra’s protests—and waits until midnight to check that nobody is waiting at her door. Nobody is, and she slips out with practiced silence, trailing down hallways she’s finally sort of memorized.

She finds the gardens with a surprising amount of ease, and knows immediately when she steps through the gateway that she’s not alone. She spots her almost a moment later, and has to resist the urge to take a step back.

“Shadow Weaver.” Even after all these years, she still manages to strike a childish fear into Adora’s heart.

Shadow Weaver turns slowly, her eyes narrowing. “Adora. Last time we met, you implied you never wanted to see me again.”

“I didn’t,” Adora says, and despite her trepidation, steps forward. “I still don’t. I’m only here because I have to.”

Shadow Weaver tilts her head. “And why is that?”

Adora takes a deep breath, lets it out in a sigh. “Because my friends won’t tell me the truth. And I don’t know what to do.”

“Hmmm.” Shadow Weaver tilts her head further, regarding her for several long moments. “I assume you’re trying to recover She-Ra.”

Adora can’t hide the breath she sucks in. “How did you—?”

“Please.” Shadow Weaver chuckles, and turns to the roses she’s pruning. Even though it’s midnight. “I understand you better than you think, Adora. And you understand what I’ve always known. The universe needs She-Ra, now more than ever. Especially considering…your mess.”

The words hit Adora like a punch to the gut. Tears spring to her eyes, and the urge to shout, to snap back some comment rises up, but she holds it back.

“I’m trying to fix it,” she says, and the words feel like an admission to a mother she never had. “I just want—to make things right.”

“Of course, dear.” Shadow Weaver still isn’t looking at her, but her tone holds an understanding Adora hadn’t known she’d needed. “I would never have expected anything less of you.”

Adora sucks in a breath, and lets it out evenly before speaking. “Then what do I do?”

Shadow Weaver pauses, then lets out a sigh and at last turns to her. Her eyes are cold, regarding.

“If you ask me,” she says in a voice that brooks no room for argument, “you do the best you can. And I know you, Adora. I know that’s more than anybody else can do.”

Adora swallows hard at this, and knows that she’s right. Because that’s who she is. Not better, exactly, but—trying. She has a responsibility—she’s always had a responsibility—and if she gives up on it now, then who is she?

She doesn’t know. And that thought terrifies her even more than the runestone in her chest.

“Okay,” she says, and starts to turn, then hesitates. “Uh, thank you, Shadow Weaver.”

Shadow Weaver doesn’t say anything. When Adora looks back, it’s just in time to watch her clip the stem of a rose, leaving the flower to flutter to the ground. She watches it until it hits, then turns and leaves without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY PLEASE DON'T HATE ME
> 
> I feel like Adora is making some progress, but a lot of this story is about how Adora processes and copes in a maladaptive way, and trying to break her out of it. So of course, she's gonna try to do what she thinks she has to do, even if she DOESN"T HAVE TO.
> 
> anyway. this is a sort of filler chapter before we FINALLY get to space. I hope you enjoyed!


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I DIDN'T ABANDON THIS STORY
> 
> Okay fun fact about me i had writer's block for like ALL of august and didn't write a single word also idek what day it is
> 
> is it still august? i don't know anymore
> 
> BUT IM SORRY THIS STORY ISN'T ABANDONED i in fact while it took me a while to write this chapter sat down and plotted out a loose ending to the story so i know where I'm going (like i knew before, but only vaguely, now i Know Know)
> 
> also I'm afraid updates will be sporadic from here on out, same as with my other stories unfortunately. I've gone back to school and while i would LOVE to have the writing schedule i had in the start of the summer, I'm afraid I just can't maintain it. But hopefully my writer's block has lifted so who knows, next chapter might be out soon? 
> 
> anyway, thank you all as always for your kind comments and patience. it's always appreciated <3

The next day finds Adora on a precipice. Or at least, so it feels. In reality she’s standing in front of her suitcase, trying not to feel panicky because she can’t decide what to bring.

What did she bring last time? She can’t remember. In fact, she only has a vague impression that she actually went to space at all, and can’t recall the actual details. Catra tells her that she saved her life, but Adora doesn’t really remember that either. So she just sort of takes her word, even if it doesn’t line up with the rest of her scattered memories.

Her life, the more she thinks about it, is pretty confusing. First she was friends with Catra, then they were sworn enemies, and now they’re…something else. Something Adora can’t really name, but thanks to her mismatched memories, she can’t really compare.

She thinks they’re friends again. But at the same time, there’s something beyond friendship that turns Adora’s stomach on her head, in a way she doesn’t remember ever feeling. It hurts sometimes, and it’s frustrating, but at the same time, it’s not like she can _talk_ about it.

She’s still trying to avoid the whole friendship thing, even though in that arena she’s teetering on the edge of defeat as well.

Not to mention, she still doesn’t know what to _pack_. And she would ask Catra for help, but that would also mean knowing where Catra is, which would mean she’d have to go find her, which would mean she might meet other people, and well—

It’s a lot of hoops to jump through.

“Ugh!” With a huff, Adora thumps onto the bed, trying as hard as she can to avoid feeling like an idiot. She’s been feeling like that a lot lately, and she both hates it and feels like she deserves it. Because honestly, she can’t even pack her bags. It’s a simple task, but whenever she stares at her suitcase she’s forcibly reminded of the fact that she’s going into space, on Horde Prime’s ship, which is also where she’d done a lot of terrible things she should have prevented in the first place. How the hell is she supposed to reconcile that with whatever kind of clothes she’s supposed to wear?

In frustration, Adora shoves the suitcase away from her, and only succeeds in pushing it onto the floor. The few contents that are inside—a toothbrush, a hairbrush—tumble onto the floor, and Adora glares.

She’s overreacting. She knows she’s overreacting. She can feel herself getting panicky for no reason at all, but the thought that she might be getting panicky only makes her feel more panicky, which makes her breathing come in short, stuttered breaths, and makes the spot where her runestone sits ache in a way she hates, and it’s all too much, it’s too much stimulus.

“Calm down, dummy,” she whispers, and brings her knees to her chest, hugging them tightly, but somehow that only makes it worse. Now she just feels constricted, but she can’t bring herself to relax either, and before she knows it she can feel the thump of her heart and the roar of her blood in her ears and if she could just—if she could just breathe—

In desperation, Adora squeezes her eyes shut. 

When she opens them, she’s not in her room.

She’s on familiar, windswept plains, dotted with rocky outcroppings. The sky is endless and dull, as is the landscape. There’s nothing to be seen.

Adora’s heart sinks.

“Thought I’d see you again.”

At the familiar voice, her heart sinks further. Slowly, she turns around, struggling to maintain the fear in her chest.

“Horde Prime.” She regards him warily, wondering, as she’d wondered ever since the first time, if this is truly some trick, or if he’s really in her head. It would suit her own subconscious, she thinks bitterly, to pull such a joke on her.

But it would suit Horde Prime to survive beyond his means too.

Horde Prime tilts his head, a small, smug smile creeping across his face.

“I won’t lie,” he says, his voice horribly pleased, “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Adora’s hands curl into fists. “It was an accident. And you’re just a figment of my mind anyway.”

And how, she wonders desperately, did she get here? All she remembers is panic, and feeling out of control, and the horrible aching of the runestone in her chest, and—

Oh. Huh.

Horde Prime smiles as she reaches the conclusion. “Emotional distress, I imagine.” He steps forward, clasping his hands in front of him. “Sometimes, it forces us to confront our greatest doubts.”

“Sure,” Adora retorts, though inside she just feels like an idiot. Of course, because she can’t control her own emotions, she’d be plunged into the worst of her subconscious. If this even is her subconscious at all.

She prays it is. The alternative would be far worse. 

“I’m not here for long,” she tosses back, before Horde Prime can answer, and turns just because she doesn’t want to face him. “I’m going back. I just need to—”

“Wake up?” Horde Prime chuckles, and comes up beside her. “Of course. But before you go—”

He lays a hand on her shoulder, only for Adora to jerk away explosively.

“Don’t touch me,” she snaps, and to her surprise he snatches his back, almost as if he’s listening to her. It’s strange, that he might listen to boundaries she set, especially when he’s violated so many of them, but somehow it just makes her feel like more of an idiot. 

_Scared of your own subconscious?_ A voice whispers in the back of her head, and she shakes it away. 

She shouldn’t be scared. She should be stronger than this. And yet—here she is.

“My apologies.” His voice is ugly-smooth, enough to make her shudder. When she glances back, he has his hands raised as if he’s actually sorry, a genial look on his face. “But I need to know your intentions, Adora.”

“I don’t have any intentions,” Adora shoots back, though that’s not entirely true either. She can feel duty tugging at her feet, Shadow Weaver’s voice swimming in her mind. She’s spent two weeks sitting here doing nothing. It’s about time, she figures, that she get back on her feet and fix what she’s done.

But she’s not sure she wants to tell that to Horde Prime. 

“Really?” He doesn’t sound as if he believes her. At all. When she looks back, he has a familiar smirk on his face, the one that tells her he knows better than her. “Then why are you here, if you aren’t planning on fixing what you’ve done?”

“I—” Her mouth hangs open momentarily, before she snaps it shut. Of course, he would cut right through her mustered comebacks and strike right at the heart of her insecurities. If he is her own subconscious, she wouldn’t put it past him.

But it’s the truth, and it hurts, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. It hurts, to even start to contemplate the reality of what she’s done, the lives she’s taken. So much so, in fact, that to open herself up to the fact is to be overwhelmed entirely. That’s why she focuses on fixing, not contemplating.

If she could just— _do something_ about the mess she’s made. Then, just maybe, she’d be worth the friends who won’t leave her side.

“I might be trying to fix things,” she hedges, then summons up the last of her hostility, by now drained into uncertainty. “But what does that have to do with you? Why should I even trust your, or, or listen to you?”

“Ah.” Horde Prime steps closer, his hands clasped, and smiles. “I believe you know that already, Adora.”

Quickly, Adora shakes her head. “No. I don’t.” 

“Don’t you?” Horde Prime steps forward, and Adora, without thinking, takes a step back. “Is that not why you’re considering becoming She-Ra again? Why you know I can help you?”

“I don’t—” Adora starts, then stops in her tracks as she registers what he’s said. “Wait. How can you help me?”

Horde Prime’s smile widens. “Oh, Adora. Isn’t it obvious by now?”

Without warning, he reaches out and touches a finger to the spot where her runestone sits. Adora tenses, but this time she doesn’t fall back. Instead, her eyes widen as she watches it spark, and she stares at it, then looks up to him.

“No matter who you think I am, my connection to your runestone is undeniable,” he says, withdrawing his hand and placing both behind his back. “If you submit to learning from me, I will be able to help you. I can help you fix your mistakes, Adora. I can help you fulfill the destiny you were always meant to fulfill.”

He reaches out, as if to tuck a lock of hair behind her head, and Adora pulls back, stomach flipping. Still, she doesn’t immediately object to his words. Instead she searches him, eyes narrowed, fists curled.

“I’d be stupid to trust you, wouldn’t I?” she says, not expecting an answer. And in response, Horde Prime just raises an eyebrow. 

“Would you?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” Adora swallows hard, still searching him. “I still think you’re my subconscious. I don’t think you’re alive. You can’t be alive.”

Horde Prime only shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter one way or the other. He doesn’t answer, and so Adora gives him a long, hard look, then turns. All of a sudden, she’s incredibly tired, as if she’s about to fall asleep though she knows she already is.

Or maybe she’s just waking up.

“Besides,” she says, her back still to him, “you don’t control me anymore.”

Behind her, Horde Prime laughs, deep and almost insulting. “Is that a choice, then?”

Adora sucks in a deep breath. She knows what he’s asking, even if he’s tiptoeing around the question itself.

“I want to help my friends,” she says. “They deserve more than me.”

“Of course.” He sounds smug, self-satisfied. She tries not to let it bother her.

“But if you are Horde Prime,” she says, lending some steel to her voice, “and you do anything to hurt them, I’ll kill you again.”

“I would expect nothing less.” His voice, though still smug, is entirely flat and gives nothing away. Adora bristles, but forces herself to remain calm.

She can do this, she reminds herself. For her friends.

“Good,” she says. “Now let me go.”

“As you wish.” He still sounds as if he’s won, but when he speaks, his voice is distant, and when Adora turns around, she catches only a glimpse of his ugly smile and a dismissive wave of his hand before he dissolved into nothingness.

“Adora? Adora!”

Adora jolts into consciousness so abruptly that it takes her a moment to realize she’s being touched. Or rather, shaken, gently but with enough panicked force to dizzy her.

“Huh—Catra?” She blinks and looks up, Catra’s worried face swimming before her eyes.

“I came in to get you and you were passed out.” Catra is still peering closely at her, gaze sharp with concern. “Are you okay? Did you faint again? Should I—”

“I’m fine.” Adora brushes her off with a familiar hint of guilt, trying to ignore the way Catra’s face falls at the dismissal. She’s been torn between pushing her away and holding her close, and knows she should probably do the first, but Catra somehow manages to worm her way in anyway. It’s disconcerting, but familiar all at once—she has a vague memory of closeness that dropped away in the war, only to be rekindled by events she’s not sure she remembers.

It’s comforting too, except when she reminds herself that she shouldn’t be giving in to such things. 

“Sure.” Catra scoffs, hovering like she’s anxious but trying to play it cool. “Because healthy people faint and are totally fine with it. Listen, once we get on the ship—”

She cuts off at Adora’s flinch, and backtracks. “I mean, Entrapta could look at—”

“I know,” Adora says, only to inwardly grimace at her tone. She hadn’t meant to sound so dismissive, but her mind is all caught up with a decision she’s still not sure about, and she can’t help but feel like she’s teetering on the edge of a cliff with no rope to anchor her. It doesn’t help that she’s about to embark on a journey she’s sort of terrified of making, on a ship she’d never reenter if she’d had the choice.

And putting her friends in danger to boot. Really, she hates everything about this plan, but knows she can’t back out. At least, not if her friends have anything to say about it.

“I mean—” she hesitates, then sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m just nervous.”

“Oh.” Catra hesitates too, possibly taken aback by her sudden admission. Because really, when’s the last time Adora has talked about her feelings in the past weeks? Never, maybe? “I mean, that’s fine.”

Without warning, she flops down beside Adora, causing the sheets to jump. Her tail, possibly by accident, flicks Adora’s knee, and Adora has to swallow a smile.

Stupid little things like this. She’d missed them.

Catra looks at her feet, then glances at Adora, then sighs and looks away.

“Trust me,” she says. “I get it.”

“I—” It takes Adora a moment to connect. Then she recalls, and has to suppress a shudder. “Oh. You mean—”

“Horde Prime’s ship. Yeah.” Catra nods, her jaw set and her eyes on her lap. “I know you don’t remember much about that—”

“I remember some things.” Flashes, because she’s pretty sure, looking back, that Horde Prime had tried to remove all evidence of his earlier failure with Catra. Of her rescue, and of his defeat. But she remembers a few things. Green eyes, glowing and agonized. Dodging punches, the urge to cry hidden in her throat. Falling from an impossibly high ledge.

She doesn’t remember hitting the bottom. Or anything after that.

“Yeah, well.” Catra bites her lip. “I think about it a lot. I’ve even—” she pauses, grimacing as if the words are stuck in her throat— “talked to Perfuma about it. A little bit. About what he did to me. And when I think about that ship—”

She breaks off with a shudder, and Adora stares at her, wondering how she could be so dumb. Of course, she’s not the only one who suffered, or was under his control.

She’s been pushing away her friends for their own good, or so she’d thought. Now, she’s starting to wonder if she’d missed out on some of the side effects.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, quick enough to trip over her words. Catra’s eyes flash to her in confusion, and then understanding clicks and she opens her mouth to respond.

“You don’t have to be—”

“No, I mean,” Adora says, then stops, and swallows, trying to collect her words. What is she trying to say? She has to protect her friends—she can’t give up on that. But she can’t just ignore them either. Not when they’re in pain. “I didn’t notice. I mean, I knew, but I’ve only been thinking about—”

“Adora, don’t.” Catra shakes her head, her brow pulled into a frown. “Seriously, I’m not asking you to feel guilty. I’m—” she stops, then takes a breath and closes her eyes, then lets it out.

“I’m just trying to let you know you’re not alone. I get it. But we’re gonna get through this together, okay?”

“I—yeah.” Adora nods, swallowing another familiar lump of guilt. She knows what Catra’s saying, but all she can feel is her failure—her failure to take care of her friends, of Catra, of the planet, of the universe. 

How on earth, she wonders, will she ever earn back her right to any of those things?

Catra is watching her carefully, as if making sure she’s truly agreeing, but when she doesn’t turn her eyes away, Adora reaches out to touch her knee.

“Hey, Catra?” she says, hesitant. Catra’s eyes flick to her knee, then back to her.

“Yeah?”

“I’m still sorry,” she says, and then quickly clarifies. “Not guilty. Just—I still want to be there for you. If I can.”

Catra looks at her for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, she shakes her head, a small smile flickering across her face.

“Of course you can, you idiot,” she says. “Just not out of some weird, self-sacrificing thing.”

“It’s not weird!” Adora replies instantly, only to backtrack. “I mean, it’s not self-sacrificing! Or weird, I’m not—”

“Sure.” Catra laughs, then reaches up to catch the hand Adora hadn’t noticed she’d been gesturing with. She holds it gently, one thumb absently moving across the back of her hand. It’s almost accidental, but something about it isn’t, and for a reason Adora can’t name, her face burns. “Whatever, weirdo. But you can be there for me. If you can take it.”

“I can,” Adora retorts, even though her face is still pink, and for a moment (minus the redness of her face), everything is as it should be. All of a sudden, there’s no gulf between them, no history or mental torment and manipulation. It’s just the two of them, trading insults like the kids they used to be, and it’s…nice.

And new, in a way Adora can’t place. But she sort of likes it. 

Then, abruptly, Catra drops her hand and stands up, then turns.

“I saw you’re almost done packing,” she says, and her voice, her demeanor, is utterly normal except for the pink staining her cheeks. It’s so slight Adora might have missed it, except that she sees it, and it’s enough to make her wonder. “The others are waiting at the ship. Want some help so we can get going?”

It’s an offer, and not, all at once. Adora looks up at her, and thinks of the voyage awaiting them, and for a moment, wishes they could just sit on her bed and laugh forever. 

But she has a lot to do. 

“Sure,” she says, and when Catra proffers her hand again, she takes it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! comments and kudos always appreciated <3


End file.
